Studies of Imagery in Early Mediterranean and East Asian Poetry (Literary and Cultural Theory) 9783631739358, 9783631740019, 9783631740026, 9783631740033

Citation preview

54

Kerstin Eksell was Professor of Semitic Philology at the University of Copenhagen and Professor of Arabic at Stockholm University. She is an affiliated researcher at Stockholm University. Gunilla Lindberg-Wada is Professor emerita of Japanology at Stockholm University. www.peterlang.com

LCT 54_273935 Eksell_AM_HCA5 new globalL.indd 1

Kerstin Eksell/Gunilla Lindberg-Wada (eds.) · Studies of Imagery

This volume consists of articles on imagery in the poetry of various literary canons. Focussing on figurative speech, the authors analyse poetry of the Near East, Greece, the Arabic world, early modern Spain, classical China and classical Japan. The articles present new research based on individual approaches for each particular canon within a wide span from socio-cultural environment to semantic and cognitive properties of specific images. They deal with the poetics of the other, the role of the poet, poetic persuasion in politics, traditional typologies of tropes, intertextuality, and the principle of analogy. The authors combine literary theory with specialised knowledge of the local context and literary tradition and provide innovative and dynamic close readings.

Literar y and Cultural Theor y

Kerstin Eksell/ Gunilla Lindberg-Wada (eds.)

Studies of Imagery in Early Mediterranean and East Asian Poetry

ISBN 978-3-631-73935-8

19.02.18 22:02

54

Kerstin Eksell was Professor of Semitic Philology at the University of Copenhagen and Professor of Arabic at Stockholm University. She is an affiliated researcher at Stockholm University. Gunilla Lindberg-Wada is Professor emerita of Japanology at Stockholm University.

Kerstin Eksell/Gunilla Lindberg-Wada (eds.) · Studies of Imagery

This volume consists of articles on imagery in the poetry of various literary canons. Focussing on figurative speech, the authors analyse poetry of the Near East, Greece, the Arabic world, early modern Spain, classical China and classical Japan. The articles present new research based on individual approaches for each particular canon within a wide span from socio-cultural environment to semantic and cognitive properties of specific images. They deal with the poetics of the other, the role of the poet, poetic persuasion in politics, traditional typologies of tropes, intertextuality, and the principle of analogy. The authors combine literary theory with specialised knowledge of the local context and literary tradition and provide innovative and dynamic close readings.

Literar y and Cultural Theor y

Kerstin Eksell/ Gunilla Lindberg-Wada (eds.)

Studies of Imagery in Early Mediterranean and East Asian Poetry

www.peterlang.com

LCT 54_273935 Eksell_AM_HCA5 new globalL.indd 1

19.02.18 22:02

Studies of Imagery in Early Mediterranean and East Asian Poetry

LITERARY AND CULTURAL THEORY General Editor: Wojciech H. Kalaga

VOLUME 54

Kerstin Eksell / Gunilla Lindberg-Wada (eds.)

Studies of Imagery in Early Mediterranean and East Asian Poetry

Bibliographic Information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data is available in the internet at http://dnb.d-nb.de. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A CIP catalog record for this book has been applied for at the Library of Congress. The volume is published with the support of Johannes Pedersens Legat, Copenhagen. Printed by CPI books GmbH, Leck. ISSN 1434-0313 ISBN 978-3-631-73935-8 (Print) E-ISBN 978-3-631-74001-9 (E-PDF) E-ISBN 978-3-631-74002-6 (EPUB) E-ISBN 978-3-631-74003-3 (MOBI) DOI 10.3726/b12809 © Peter Lang GmbH Internationaler Verlag der Wissenschaften Frankfurt am Main 2017 All rights reserved. Peter Lang – Frankfurt am Main · Bern · Bruxelles · New York · Oxford · Warszawa · Wien All parts of this publication are protected by copyright. Any utilisation outside the strict limits of the copyright law, without the permission of the publisher, is forbidden and liable to prosecution. This applies in particular to reproductions, translations, microfilming, and storage and processing in electronic retrieval systems. This publication has been peer reviewed. www.peterlang.com

Contents Kerstin Eksell Introduction����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 7 Jesper Høgenhaven Poetry in the Hebrew Bible as Seen through Johann Gottfried von Herder’s Reading Glasses���������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 19 Laura Feldt Poetic Narratives: Moving Images in Old Babylonian Myths and the Characterisation of the Hero Gods Inana and Ninurta��������������������������������� 47 Claudia Zichi Poetic References in Plato’s Laws: The Preamble on Marriage (721b6-c6 and 772e7-774a2)������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 77 Lena Rydholm Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics: “As Fragile as Chrysanthemums”?��������������������������������������������������������������������������� 97 Gunilla Lindberg-Wada On the Seashore in Japanese Classical Poetry – The Innermost of the Human Heart������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 153 Stina Jelbring Expansions of Metaphor in Classical Japanese Court Literature���������������������� 169 Kerstin Eksell Figurative Speech According to the Talkhīṣ al-Miftaḥ by al-Qazwīnī. With an Excursus on A. F. van Mehren’s Die Rhetorik der Araber�������������������� 195 Kerstin Eksell Light and Colour in Arabo–Andalusian Poetry�������������������������������������������������� 233 Juan Carlos Cruz Suárez Góngora on the Stage. Early Modern Spanish Poetry and Ingenium��������������� 273 Notes on Contributors�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 295

Kerstin Eksell

Introduction This volume consists of studies of imagery, especially figurative speech, in the poetry of various literary canons from East Asia and the Mediterranean, and along a time axis including pre-modern and early modern periods, from the ancient world, through the Middle Ages up to the baroque. The individual approach of each expert has been favoured rather than conforming the articles into one theoretical view. The volume adds knowledge to each of the specific topics studied and to their poetic context in history and culture. Every article may be read separately, since it presents new research within its specialised field of knowledge. However, the articles also give information on poetical imagery in general, across borders of time and space, by preparing for points of comparison between poetical traditions worldwide. The contributions of the volume illustrate the fundamental need for coupling the use of modern literary theory and the search for linguistic, mental and literary universals with a thorough contextual interpretation, a hermeneutical process based on familiarity with the local culture and literature. The volume is the result of a series of seminars held at the Faculty of Theology in Copenhagen 2014–2016 in honour of the Danish orientalist August Ferdinand van Mehren, professor of Semitic languages 1854–1907. His work Die Rhetorik der Araber is still a seminal work on the theory of figurative speech in medieval Arabic poetics.1 Mehren followed in the line of Herder and Goethe, developing the study of world literature (Weltliteratur). In the preface to the Rhetorik der Araber Mehren writes about his early interest in Arabic poetry. He had soon become aware that aesthetic ideals differed between cultures and that criteria for valuing poetry must be based on the particular poetry and poetics studied. Understanding of the poetry of the other is only possible through profound knowledge acquired from extensive studying of a large number of poems from different ages, so that the

1 August Ferdinand van Mehren, Die Rhetorik der Araber. Nach den wichtigsten Quellen dargestellt und mit angefügten Textauszügen nebst einem literatur – geschichtlichen Anhange versehen (Unter der Autorität der deutschen morgenländischen Gesellschaft gedruckt), (Kopenhagen: Verlag Otto Schwartz/Wien: Aus der kaiserl. Hof- und Staatsdruckerei, 1853).

8

Kerstin Eksell

reader gradually is able to grasp the characteristics of the foreign poetry: “Wir müssen also, um in dem Gleichnisse zu bleiben, für die Betrachtung orientalischer Dichterwerke die rechte Beleuchtung gewinnen; dies aber wird nur dadurch möglich, dass wir eine bedeutende Anzahl derselben aus verschiedenen Zeiten under sich vergleichen, das Charakteristische eines jeden derselben ins Auge fassen, und uns so nach und nach ein Bewusstsein ihrer Gesamteigenthümlichkeit anbilden.”2

Theoretical Framework The project has been operating within the general framework of decontextualisation, in an approach presented by Stina Jelbring, and further extended and completed by contemporary views on the importance of contextual interpretation: We may use the concept of decontextualisation when dissociating from the historical context in our analysis of a classical text, applying a reader-oriented theory which aims at an open interpretation that is not limited to the interpretations of scholars/readers of its own time. However, decontextualisation can also be used for an application of Western theories on a literature of a non-European language. The aim of such an application may be to prove its general applicability – or the contrary, to prove that it is not generally applicable. Yet another aim of applying Western theories to a non-contemporary (pre-modern or early modern) or non-European literary text would be to examine what happens in the encounter between modern Western theory and a text which is neither represented in the corpus on which the theory is based nor belongs to its interpretive tradition.3

Decontextualisation naturally evokes contextualisation, the hermeneutic study of the text within its context, which thus forms the complimentary part of our general approach. Between those two perspectives, there is an obvious conflict, which we, however, have chosen to consider as an enriching and dynamic challenge. In support of the approach of decontextualisation, we may refer to the discussion by Alexander Beecroft. He defends using “the etic perspective” in comparative studies: “By definition, the comparative study of literature in different languages, coming from different cultures, must take place in some sort of critical

2 Mehren, Die Rhetorik, pp. III–IV. 3 See Stina Jelbring, A Decontextual Stylistics Study of the Genji Monogatari. With a Focus on the “Yûgao” Story (Stockholm: Stockholm University, 2010), pp. 15–16. The text quoted is written by Stina Jelbring especially for this volume.

Introduction

9

language, and that language must be etic to at least one of the cultures under study, if it is not etic to both, or all, of them.”4 There are also weighty considerations of the importance of an emic perspective and of involving the context into a multi-layer interpretation of the text. Contextualisation may be considered to be a primary principle for the study of literature in general. Bo Pettersson proposes a holistic view of the literary communication: “Hence, literary studies must include an awareness of so much more than before – of, at the very least, historical, cognitive and cultural aspects – in order to reach a deeper understanding of literary texts, their creation, mediation, and interpretation.”5 On the subject of studying poetry in particular in world literature, David Damrosch discusses the interpretation of a certain Sanskrit poem: When reading world literature we should beware of the perils of exoticism and assimilation, the two extremes on the spectrum of difference and similarity. We won’t get very far if we take the Sanskrit poem as the product of some mysterious Orient whose artists are naïve and illogical, or whose people feel an entirely different set of emotions than we do. On that assumption, we might experience the poem as charming but pointless […]. Equally, though, we should be wary of assuming that the medieval Sanskrit poet and his audience were just like us, playing by the same rules and with the same sorts of cultural assumptions we might find in a contemporary poem about spousal abuse. We need to learn enough about the tradition to achieve an overall understanding of its patterns of reference and its assumptions about the world, the text, and the reader.6

Damrosch’s views are remarkably similar to those of Mehren from 1853 referred to above. The focal point of interpretation in this volume regards metaphor and metaphor-related tropes and figures. Here, too, an analogous discussion is taking place. Modern theory of cognitive metaphor has expanded vastly during the last decades. Against this development, the case of the literary metaphor as a relevant and independent concept requiring its own study has been strongly advocated.7 4 Alexander Beecroft, An Ecology of World Literature. From Antiquity to the Present Day (London and New York: Verso, 2015), p. 30. 5 Bo Pettersson, “Literature as a Textualist Notion,” in: From Text to Literature: New Analytical and Pragmatic Approaches, ed. Stein Haugom Olsen and Anders Pettersson (New York: Palgrave/Macmillan, 2009), p. 142. 6 David Damrosch, How to Read Literature (Malden MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2008), pp. 12–13. 7 For a presentation of the problem, see Monika Fludernik, ed., Beyond Cognitive Metaphor Theory: Perspectives on Literary Metaphor (New York: Routledge, 2011), pp. 5–7; Bo Pettersson, “Literary Criticism Writes Back to Metaphor Theory: Exploring the

10

Kerstin Eksell

Our aim has been to internalise modern research on cognitive metaphor while at the same time insisting on the necessity of interpreting literary metaphor as a complex phenomenon, including the linguistic kernel of the trope, or figure, together with its textual as well as medial and socio-cultural context.8 From a purely textualist point of view, Nowottny speaks of the structure of the whole poem, its “multiple organisation” which strengthens the effect of the particular image/s/ in the poem.9 Peter Hallberg stresses the importance of bringing the whole field of associations related to the extremes of the trope into the process of understanding.10 The dynamics of decontextualisation vs. contextualisation with regard to imagery (figurative speech) as the over-all approach in this volume may be expressed in the words of Laura Feldt, in her contribution on imagery in ancient Mesopotamia. Referring to modern sources such as Andrew Goatly, Richards, and Black (for basic definitions and the concepts of conceptual blending and interaction respectively), she continues: Current metaphor theories understand metaphor as a unique cognitive vehicle, which expresses something that cannot be said in any other way. […] What happens in metaphor is not related to one word only, but hinges on the interaction of all parts of the utterance – and the context. New meaning is created, which is why metaphor has the ability to convey new information; it is not mere ornament. […] These theories may – in spite of differences – be called interaction theories, because they see metaphor as a kind of interaction, or conflict or tension, between different domains, subjects, or terms, in an utterance. In my work, I have found it crucial that the analysis of metaphor is grounded in hermeneutics, because in any analysis of literary and religious metaphors, context is crucial. The present contribution will be conducted within a hermeneutical frame, considering also the larger frames of the literary and social contexts of the imagery, and it will be based on an interaction theory of metaphor. While the field certainly has seen

Relation between Extended Metaphor and Narrative in Literature,” in: Beyond Cognitive Metaphor Theory: Perspectives on Literary Metaphor, ed. Monika Fludernik (New York: Routledge, 2011), pp. 94–95. 8 We define a literary text, in our case poetical ones, according to Anders Pettersson: “literature in the modern western sense could be understood, approximately, as presentational discourse produced with pretensions to being culturally important, and/or well-formed, and/or conducive to aesthetic experience.” Anders Pettersson, “Introduction: Concepts of Literature and Transcultural Literary History,” in: Literary History: Towards a Global perspective. Vol. 1. Notions of Literature Across Times and Cultures, ed. Anders Pettersson (Berlin and New York: De Gruyter, 2006), p. 16. 9 Nowottny, The Language Poets Use (London: The Athlone Press, University of London, 1962), p. 8; pp. 72–98. 10 Peter Hallberg, Diktens Bildspråk (Göteborg: Akademiförlaget, 1982), p. 49.

Introduction

11

quite a bit of discussion on the subject, there seems to be a consensus today that metaphor cannot be explained without reference to extra-linguistic, i.e., pragmatic, factors like context, intention, reference, and pre-understanding, and that substitutive and emotive theories are generally inadequate.

The Contributions Emerging Points for a Comparative Perspective Although this volume presents new material rather than dwelling on the question of how to deal with comparison itself and how to relate to literary theory in a comparative perspective, the articles offer possible openings for future exploration of the comparative perspective.11 Earl Miner suggests certain basic principles for comparative studies. The main problem is to identify “what elements constitute, or what procedure guarantees, sufficient comparability.”12 Once such elements (conceptual, cognitive, and historical) have been specified, we may not have identity but a sufficient homology or symmetry for comparison to make sense.13 One useful homology for comparative study is function: in different literatures and societies, different elements may serve the same function and therefore be compared.14 Other criteria besides function can establish homologous, symmetrical or analogous entities appropriate for comparison.15 Stina Jelbring’s article on Japanese classical poetics and poetry in poetic prose illustrates how decontextualisation in combination with a comparing analysis of homologous tropes may be used for interpretation. Finding a functional homology between “metaphor” and two kinds of allusion in Japanese classical poetics, Jelbring demonstrates that metaphor theory lends itself quite willingly to an analysis of this kind of poetic and allusive texture in which allusion can both expand and transform the meaning of the text, as a metaphor. For this reason the term “allusifying metaphor” is utilised.

11 Questions of to what degree literatures in general are commeasurable and translatable will be left pendent for the moment. 12 Earl Miner, Comparative Poetics: An Intercultural Essay on Theories of Literature (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1990), p. 21. 13 The presentation of Miner’s article on comparative entities in this text is based on constructive remarks from Assoc. Prof. Stina Jelbring. 14 Earl Miner, “Some Theoretical and Methodological Topics for Comparative Literature,” Poetics Today, Vol. 8, No. 1 (1987), p. 137. 15 Miner, “Some Theoretical and Methodological Topics,” p. 138.

12

Kerstin Eksell

In general, the articles demonstrate constituents of “sufficient comparability” which may be further examined along an axis of symmetry, or identity and difference, and within the communicative structure of a poem outlined by Miner: Poet – Work – Text – Poem – Reader.16 One common ground apparent in all articles is the high degree of literary knowledge required on the part of both the poet and the reader. On the textual level, this is particularly evident in the East Asian contributions. Although tropes and figures carry their own meaning, the whole poem consists of an intricate web of allusions and associations, which must all be decoded for interpreting the whole poetic message. The single imagery terms alone are imbued with layers of assembled meanings, not to speak of the effect of the total of the poetic text. The aesthetic and intellectual challenge presupposes a well-educated elite of readers/listeners. Like the Sanskrit tradition, Chinese poetry presents a difference in degree rather than a difference in kind from the Western tradition. According to Damrosch: “Du Fu’s readers knew that poets never simply transcribed whatever caught their eye; classical Chinese poems are elaborate constructions, in which the poet very selectively weaves elements from the world around him into poetic forms that employ long-cherished images, metaphors, and historical references.”17 It follows that intertextuality plays a very important role in the pre-modern poetry of China, Japan, Mesopotamia, Greece and the Arab world. For the educated reader/listener, the delightful effect of a poem will increase considerably by references to other poetry embedded in the poetical text. The sophisticated attitude of the communicating parts is not linked to chronological historical time. There is no connection between imagery produced early in history and a supposed early stage of artistic production in terms of spontaneity, randomness or simplicity. This is most obvious from the study by Laura Feldt of Sumerian and Old Babylonian imagery from the early second millennium BC or before. In spite of the ancientness of the texts and the pre-historic origins of the mythical topics, the imagery provides evidence of a highly sophisticated attitude towards imagery and literature. The images used have already lost their immediate relation to divine activity. Instead, they demonstrate a high degree of conscious fabrication of artful devices, even an awareness of a break of trust, or even irony, with regard to the supremacy of state religion and state power. This attitude shows some affinity to the one demonstrated in the study by Claudia Zichi on the use of poetic terminology by Plato in the early forth century BC.

16 Miner, Comparative Poetics, p. 16. 17 Damrosch, How to Read World Literature, p. 15.

Introduction

13

Here, a high level of knowledge of literature on behalf of the listener/reader is necessary for understanding the poetic illusions of the text, which leaves no doubt that both the speaker and the audience belong to an elite group of society far from any pre-historic stage of developing literature. If such a period ever existed, it had died out completely long before the appearance of Plato and his contemporaries. The display of sophisticated literary knowledge in those ancient texts may raise questions on how to define literary development, also in relative comparisons such as the ecological systems suggested by Alexander Beecroft; the two ancient systems described here are both mainly panchoric, i.e., belonging to the second earliest phase of development.18 The fabrication of tropical patterns in the poetic texts is accompanied by an interplay between inventiveness and convention. Obviously, imagery must always contain an element of novelty and surprise in order to have an effect. The very inventiveness, to find a new way of expressing an old concept, or to discover a new concept altogether, is naturally of primal importance. However, it is also apparent that the novelty must be related to something already known, or we would not be able to perceive it. In most of our canonical poetic texts, the conventionalism is also of utmost importance. The cultivated listeners/readers do not want totally new poetic messages, they want to learn something new against a background of well-known elements: Old images coined anew with a slight change; recognised cultural phenomena reappearing; focal images which simultaneously hint at other known images: the poem is a code consisting of hints, allegories and semantic and cultural relations, which shall be decoded. The more complex the imagery, the more decoding necessary – the greater the pleasure for the listener/reader. Analogy is a conceptual paradigm of great importance for many of the texts studied. It is highly relevant for the construction of the single trope on the poetic, cognitive and linguistic levels, and it appears as a functional principle explaining the world in many religious and philosophical systems. As Octavio Paz expresses it: “Analogy […] has had a dual function in the history of modern poetry: it was the principle before all principles, before the reason of philosophies and the revelation of religions; and this principle coincided with poetry itself. If analogy turns the universe into a poem, a text made up of oppositions, which became resolved in correspondences, it also makes the poem a universe.”19

18 Beecroft, An Ecology, pp. 33–36. 19 Octavio Paz, Children of the Mire, trans. Rachel Philips (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 1974), p. 56.

14

Kerstin Eksell

In the articles of this volume, the importance of analogical thought is particularly evident in Eksell’s presentation of light and colour in Arabic garden poetry, where metaphor may be used to reflect medieval Neo-Platonic thought, and in Cruz Suárez’s analysis of a poem by Góngora, where the semantic discord in the metaphor behind tenor and vehicle typical of early Spanish baroque discloses the tension and obscurity of the early modern world. Both poetics are connected to the antique world of the Mediterranean. Comparing between East and West, the principle of analogy acquires new importance, emerging from its potentiality of implying the unity of the world as well as its plurality. In Western thought, the plurality is often emphasised: “Analogy […] exists only by virtue of differences. Precisely because this is not that, it is possible to extend a bridge between this and that. The bridge is the word like, or the word is: this is like that, this is that.”20 In her article on natural imagery, Rydholm gives an extensive presentation of the principle of analogy in Chinese poetry and how it relates to present metaphor theory in modern Chinese poetics. Contrary to Western views, Chinese poetics stresses the potential of unity in the principle of analogy: “If Western literary culture is founded on ontological dualism, Chinese literary culture is founded on a monistic worldview, the immanent cosmic principle of Dao.”21 And Stephen Owen is quoted on the same subject: “Both lei, ‘natural category,’ and the Western concept of metaphor (closest perhaps to the Chinese yü 喻) are ultimately based upon analogy; however, the metaphor is fictional and involves true substitution, while lei is a shared category that is ‘strictly true,’ based upon the order of the world.”22 This definition of metaphor has far-reaching consequences and needs to be much further studied. Another dividing-line may be drawn according to the hierarchy of integration between the elements of the image, in which imagery in East Asian poetry might often be characterised as elements in simple juxtaposition, in contrast to the closer connections of the elements in Mediterranean poetry represented by simile and metaphor.23 This type of ordering needs further consideration as well.

20 Paz, Children, pp. 72–73. 21 Rydholm refers to Pauline Yu, The Reading of Imagery in the Chinese Poetic Tradition (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1987), pp. 32–33. 22 Stephen Owen, Traditional Chinese Poetry and Poetics. Omen of the World (Madison WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 1985), p. 61. 23 G. D. Martin, Language, Truth and Poetry: Notes Towards a Philosophy of Literature (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1975) and James J. Y. Liu, The Art of Chinese

Introduction

15

The intimate relation between man and nature: Nature is the topic and scene in most of the poetry presented here, from the mythical and religious poetry of the ancient Near East, and reappearing as a forceful component in Spanish early modern poetry. The affective-expressive mode often associated with lyrical poetry is particularly cultivated in East Asia.24 The distanced approach of the Andalusian Arab poet, whose personal engagement is only glimpsed behind the neutral-descriptive attitude of the genre, contrasts with the emotions displayed in Chinese and Japanese poetry, very clearly articulated in the poetry studied by Lindberg-Wada. Here, the seashore is used as the main motif, and since it depicts the human condition, it is immediately understood by the modern reader. Deeply affective poetry on nature, produced by a poet expressing his innermost feelings, is also exemplified in Høgenhaven’s article on ancient Hebrew poetry, again defying boundaries of time and ecological development. Finally, the contributions mark the geographical and cultural contours of the areas studied. In the Mediterranean world, the strong tradition of figurative speech from the antique world has created affinities between the Hellenistic and Arabic countries of the eastern Mediterranean and Spain in the western Mediterranean, and historically, from classical Greece up to early modern time. In East Asia, close ties exist between the imagery of Chinese and Japanese poetic texts. However, between the Mediterranean world on the one hand and the East Asian world on the other, principal differences of imagery may be discerned.

Single Topics in the Contributions The articles present single motifs of interest within a wide spectrum from sociocultural environment to semantic and cognitive properties of specific images. A historical perspective on the beginnings of comparative world literature in the eighteenth century is provided by the first article in the volume, Jesper Høgenhaven’s article on Johann Gottfried von Herder. Herder argues that understanding the poetry of Biblical Hebrew requires an interpretation according to its own poetics, and within the context of the society and culture of the ancient Near East. We have seen this early approach taken up by other scholars occurring in this volume up to the present state of research. Now more than ever, “the sense

Poetry (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1962). After Hallberg, Diktens Bildspråk, p. 13. 24 Cf. Miner, Comparative Poetics, p. 84.

16

Kerstin Eksell

of a comparative imperative” may be felt for trying to relate the cultures of our world to each other, however divergent they may seem.25 The articles dealing with the most ancient poetry of this volume deal with imagery in relation to the socio-cultural context of the poetic texts. The role of the poet-scholar in ancient Mesopotamia is discussed by Laura Feldt. Studying image-intensive segments of the mythical poetry, she suggests that the scribes, i.e., the professional scholars occupied with teaching and transmitting the traditional old Babylonian poetry, favoured developing their literary skill, their knowledge of intertextual references and their ability to use rare vocabulary and to find new variants of known images, rather than emphasising the message of the mythical poetry sent out by the religious and political powers. The strong persuasive effect of poetry was well recognised in classical Greece society. Plato is known for having warned against the negative influence of poetry because of its potential to lead emotions astray. However, as Claudia Zichi demonstrates, Plato himself made use of poetic allusions in his political and ethical writings as a means to enforce his arguments for improving moral and ethical behaviour among the citizens. Poetry thus became an educational tool. The article by Lena Rydholm brings the gender question into focus. Rydholm presents the conventional division of masculine and feminine poetry according to formal criteria and discusses the poetry of the female poet Li Qingzhao and her biography and situation in life. In Rydholm’s interpretation, the poet manipulates the aesthetic conventions of natural imagery, deconstructing the masculine vs. feminine distinction. “Feministic” undertones may be traced. Among the articles dealing primarily with imagery constructs, Stina Jelbring’s presentation of the expansions of metaphor has been mentioned above. Here, the relation between allusion as a traditional Japanese technique and as a metaphor, as well as the extended (narrative) metaphor, in the modern Western sense are explored. In another article on Japanese poetry, Gunilla Lindberg-Wada discusses how images of the seashore is developed into a poetic landscape constructed with the help of particular Japanese figurative devices such as the kakekotoba, or “pivot word,” a kind of punning, in which a word or part of a word is exploited, being used as a pivot between two series of sounds with overlapping syntactical and semantic patterns. Due to homonymy or polysemy, an expression may thus be read either in its proper meaning or tropically, similar to, but not identical with, Western metaphor or symbol; it may also be compared to the concept of juxtaposition.

25 The quotation from Wiebke Denecke, Classical World Literatures: Sino-Japanese and Greco-Roman Comparisons (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), p. 11.

Introduction

17

Eksell has selected metaphors and similes which contain elements of light in a few selected Andalusian garden poems and shows how those images form isotopes, which structure the reading on the semiotic level of the poem. Poems which at first sight seem to be purely descriptive and artificial may thus be interpreted as having a special significance on the semiotic level. Their function is in concordance with the inherited view of the universal principle of analogy, but there is also a tendency towards a new semiotic paradigm aiming at poetizing individual emotions of harmony or increasing agony. A theory of figurative speech is provided by the late classical Arabic scholar al-Qazwīnī. Eksell presents the typology of this theory with its main divisions based on degrees of transformation and distance between the referential term of the image and its imaginative term. In spite of the concise form of al-Qazwīnī’s work, it gives plenty of information on the development of stylistics in the late classical Arabic time. Somewhat surprisingly, it provides material for relating it to the antique tradition, as well as to modern Western theory of figurative speech. The role of the poet is a main theme in the article by Juan Carlos Cruz Suárez. The author explains the importance of the ingenium, the wit, of the poet, which enabled him to explore the universe by finding (imagining) hitherto unrecognised and unexpected correspondences between the referential term and the vehicle of the metaphor. The active influence of the ingenium reflects the change from medievalrenaissance poetics and view of the universe into the baroque (early modern) world.

Bibliography Beecroft, Alexander. An Ecology of World Literature. From Antiquity to the Present Day. London and New York: Verso, 2015. Damrosch, David. How to Read Literature. Malden MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2008. Denecke, Wiebke: Classical World Literatures: Sino-Japanese and Greco-Roman Comparisons. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. Fludernik, Monika, ed. Beyond Cognitive Metaphor Theory: Perspectives on Literary Metaphor. New York: Routledge, 2011. Hallberg, Peter. Diktens Bildspråk. Göteborg: Akademiförlaget, 1982. Jelbring, Stina. A Decontextual Stylistics Study of the Genji Monogatari. With a Focus on the “Yûgao” Story. Stockholm: Stockholm University, 2010. Mehren, August Ferdinand van. Die Rhetorik der Araber. Nach den wichtigsten Quellen dargestellt und mit angefügten Textauszügen nebst einem literatur – geschichtlichen Anhange versehen. (Unter der Autorität der deutschen morgenländischen Gesellschaft gedruckt.) Kopenhagen: Verlag Otto Schwartz/ Wien Aus der kaiserl. Hof- und Staatsdruckerei, 1853.

18

Kerstin Eksell

Miner, Earl. “Some Theoretical and Methodological Topics for Comparative Literature.” Poetics Today, Vol. 8, No. 1, 1987, pp. 123–140. Miner, Earl. Comparative Poetics: An Intercultural Essay on Theories of Literature. Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1990. Nowottny, Winifred. The Language Poets Use. London: The Athlone Press, University of London, 1962. Paz, Octavio. Children of the Mire. Trans. Rachel Philips. Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 1974. Pettersson, Anders. “Introduction: Concepts of Literature and Transcultural Literary History.” In: Literary History: Towards a Global perspective. Vol. 1. Notions of Literature Across Times and Cultures, ed. Anders Pettersson. Berlin and New York: De Gruyter 2006, pp. 1–35. Pettersson, Bo. “Literary Criticism Writes Back to Metaphor Theory: Exploring the Relation between Extended Metaphor and Narrative in Literature.” In: Beyond Cognitive Metaphor Theory: Perspectives on Literary Metaphor, ed. Monika Fludernik. New York: Routledge, 2011. Pettersson, Bo. “Literature as a Textualist Notion.” In: From Text to Literature: New Analytical and Pragmatic Approaches, ed. Stein Haugom Olsen and Anders Pettersson. New York: Palgrave/Macmillan, 2009, pp. 128–145.

Jesper Høgenhaven

Poetry in the Hebrew Bible as Seen through Johann Gottfried von Herder’s Reading Glasses Abstract: Herder (1744–1803), while insisting on the contemporary relevance of the Old Testament, argues that a congenial reading of Hebrew poetry in its oriental context is crucial for grasping its message. At a time when traditional Protestant approaches to the Bible were increasingly challenged, Herder emphasizes both the distinctive character of Hebrew poetry and its affinity to European classics.

Introduction Johann Gottfried von Herder (1744–1803) is an independent and in several respects highly original thinker in the context of the late eighteenth century. His life and writings bridge the ideas of the Enlightenment, idealism, and early romanticism, as illustrated by his connections with a number of central figures in the culturally and intellectually rich eighteenth-century German realm (Kant, Hamann, Lessing, Goethe). Herder’s famous study on the thought and language of the Old Testament Vom Geist der ebräischen Poesie (1782) makes a case for a renewed evaluation and appreciation of the literature of the Hebrew Bible as poetry with an enduring intrinsic value and contemporary relevance. Herder wrote at a time when traditional Protestant approaches to the Bible were being challenged by historical criticism and radical Enlightenment philosophy and theology; and at the same time scholarly Oriental studies and Orientalism were emerging with new insights into and new constructions of non-European cultures in ancient and modern times.

The Background of Herder’s Work on Hebrew Poetry Born in Mohrungen in East Prussia, Herder studied theology and philosophy in Königsberg.1 Among his teachers was Immanuel Kant, but the most influential

1 For Herder’s biography, cf. Robert T. Clark, Herder: His Life and Thought (Berkely and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1955); Walter Dietze, Johann Gottfried Herder. Abriss seines Lebens und Schaffens (Berlin and Weimar: Aufbau-Verlag, 1980), pp. 7–33; Eilert Herms, “Herder, Johann Gottfried von (1744–1803),” in: Theologische Realenzyklopädie, Vol. XV, ed. Gerhard Müller et al. (Berlin-New York: Walter de Gruyter,1986), pp. 70–78.

20

Jesper Høgenhaven

and formative contact was probably his acquaintance with Johann Georg Hamann. From Hamann Herder acquired a deep love of the world of the biblical texts and in particular of the Hebrew of the Old Testament. Herder was also profoundly influenced by Hamann’s critical approach to Enlightenment philosophy and rationalist theology and what he perceived to be their misapprehension of the Bible and Christian tradition. After completing his studies Herder went to Riga as a teacher and pastor (1764–69). Years of travelling followed the Riga period before Herder accepted positions first as Hofprediger in Bückeburg and (from 1776) as Generalsuperintendent in Weimar. Herder entertained friendly relations with well-known figures like Lessing and – in particular – Goethe. In his later years, however, increasing differences between Herder and Goethe finally led to the permanent alienation of the former friends.2 Herder’s work spans a great variety of topics, and his influence was considerable in several fields. His achievement in biblical interpretation has sometimes been described as more aesthetic than theological, leaving more impact on the development of German literature than on the specific domain of biblical scholarship, but Herder’s substantial contribution even to the understanding of the Bible among theologians should not be underestimated.3 The importance of the Bible for Herder’s thought is fundamental and manifest. The role of the Bible as his preeminent source of inspiration and reflection throughout his life is emphasised by Michel Deneken in his study of Herder’s approach to the Bible.4 Herder’s basic attitude of respect, openness, and curiosity towards the Bible was probably shaped already in his childhood years, since he was raised in a pietistic family in an atmosphere of familiarity with the Bible. A deep conviction of the beauty,

2 On the strained relationship between Herder and Goethe during Herder’s late years, see Clark, Herder, pp. 414–422; Dietze, Johann Gottfried Herder, pp. 28–33. 3 Herder’s substantial contribution not only to German thought and literature but also to theology is emphasized by Michel Deneken, against a notion that Herder’s theological achievement should be regarded as secondary. Michel Deneken, “Quand Dieu apprend à parler aux hommes: Herder et la Bible,” Recherches de Science Religieuse, Vol. 90 (2002), p. 488. For the latter opinion, cf. the formulation by Walter Dietze quoted by John D. Baildam, Paradisal Love. Johann Gottfried Herder and the Song of Songs, Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series, Vol. 298 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), p. 92: “Zweifellos nimmt dieses Bibel-Verständnis in der Geschichte der Theologie einen wichtigen Platz ein. Noch grössere Bedeutung hat es alledings für die Geschichte deutscher Literatur, weil es mit philologisch-historischer Akribie und feinstem Kunstverstand die ästhetischen Werte der Bibel aufschließt.” 4 Michel Deneken, “Quand Dieu apprend à parler,” pp. 488–489.

Poetry in the Hebrew Bible

21

profundity, and enduring relevance of the biblical world characterizes Herder’s writings from beginning to end. It is not surprising, therefore, that Herder devotes so much work and energy to understanding biblical texts and in his writings repeatedly returns to matters of biblical interpretation.

Herder’s Early Work on Poetry and the Old Testament: Älteste Urkunde Herder’s earliest attempt to decode the poetry of an Old Testament text is in his study of Genesis, found in Älteste Urkunde des Menschengeschlechts (1774–1776). Opinions have been somewhat divided on Herder’s study: Robert T. Clark, in his biography, designates it Herder’s “poorest work.”5 On the other hand, the significance of Herder’s early work has been emphasised in more recent studies by John D. Baildam and Michel Deneken.6 In any case, Älteste Urkunde demonstrates some of the basic principles of Herder’s appreciation and understanding of the poetic worldview of the Hebrew Old Testament. One important insight for Herder is that reading the Old Testament requires a change of attitude on the part of the average European person, raised and trained in the cultural traditions of his time. To appreciate the narrative of Genesis, one must leave the “boring classrooms of the Occident” and enter the freer atmosphere of the Orient. Herder formulates this as a programmatic exhortation: Also aus den dumpfen Lehrstuben des Abendlandes in die freiere Luft des Orients hinaus, wo dies Stück gegeben worden, und damit wir nicht aus dem Zusammenhange reimen, und uns an jedem Wort, was wir wollen, träumen: lasset uns die vornehmsten Begriffe, die wir hier antreffen werden, zuerst als Inseln umschiffen, und ihre Bedeutung aus dem Morgenlande sichern.7

5 Clark, Herder, p. 164: “In spite of its fructifying influence on theology and Biblical criticism, the Document is Herder’s poorest work.” Christoph Bultmann describes Älteste Urkunde as being associated with Herder’s early years, belonging more closely together with German “Sturm und Drang” than with the later and more self-confident Herder. Christoph Bultmann, “Creation at the Beginning of History: Johann Gottfried Herder’s Interpretation of Genesis 1,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament, Vol. 68 (1995), p. 25. 6 Baildam, Paradisal Love; Deneken, “Quand Dieu apprend à parler.” 7 “So out of the dull classrooms of the Occident into the freer atmosphere of the Orient, where this piece came from. And in order not to versify out of context and dream what we choose into every word, let us first sail around the most important concepts that we will encounter here as if they were islands and guarantee their oriental meaning.”

22

Jesper Høgenhaven

This metaphor is important for Herder’s view of the context within which biblical poetry belongs and against which it should be perceived. There are two important aspects of Herder’s imagery here: The Genesis account is an oriental text, and its words and concepts must be approached from an oriental perspective. They are like islands, which the interpreter has to sail around in order to get an appropriate idea of their meaning, informed by their authentic oriental context. The second aspect of Herder’s image involves a highly symbolic relocation of the reading process from an indoor (“Lehrstuben”) to an outdoor setting (“freiere Luft”). The reader has to move outside the classroom and situate himself in a freer and more open space in order to perceive congenially the biblical creation narrative. This step outside is necessary because the text does not belong within a school context. Herder’s demand for a relocation of the Genesis text and its reading has several implications. There is a critical corrective directed at the prevalent tradition that views the Old Testament as a part of a learned enterprise, taking place in the closed indoor classrooms of schools and universities. When the Hebrew literature of the Old Testament is read within this academic context, the poetic nature of the texts is not duly understood. And there is a positive affirmation: According to Herder, the depiction of the creation of the world in Genesis 1 is not a scientific description but a poetic account, which is closely associated with the living experience of nature itself. The creation narrative follows the sequence of images experienced when we witness a morning sunrise. The landscape gradually becomes visible and this is how the reader of Genesis 1 should follow and visualize the process of creation. Interestingly, Herder relates this poetic and experience-based character of the biblical text to its capability of conveying divine truth. Witnessing this natural unfolding of events, which the biblical text reflects and reiterates, is in itself a kind of revelation of divine truth and insight. The scene which unfolds before the spectator’s eyes is also a living expression of divine instruction to man.8 Herder’s notion of revelation is rooted in a deep conviction of harmony between what God reveals in nature and in the poetry of the biblical texts, which, in a sense, imitate nature. As Michel Deneken formulates it, the Creator, according to Herder, from the outset intended humans to decipher the world of his creation. God himself educates humans to read the book of nature as well as the book of Johann Gottfried von Herder, Älteste Urkunde des Menschengeschlechts. Eine nach Jahrhunderte enthüllte heilige Schrift. Bd I, herausgegeben durch Johann Georg Müller (Tübingen: In der J.G. Cotta’schen Buchhandlung, 1806 [1774]), p. 25. Translations into English from Herder’s work, unless otherwise stated, are my own. Cf. the quotation in Bultmann, “Creation,” p. 26. 8 Bultmann, “Creation,” p. 26.

Poetry in the Hebrew Bible

23

scripture. If man is able to discover a unity in nature and history, it is exactly because God established this unity in the midst of his creation.9 For Herder, with his firm belief in the ultimate harmony of the created world, natural and revealed religion are not opposites. On the contrary: from the very beginning of human history, natural and revealed religion were intimately connected, “The daily sunrise is a recurrence of the sunrise that the first human beings experienced.”10 The sunrise, however, in order to become fully comprehensible to humans as God’s revelation, needs to be accompanied by a “guiding voice.” God not only arranges the order of natural events, he also takes on the task of explaining that order so that humans understand its significance. The voice of tradition, as expressed in the ancient narrative of Genesis, therefore becomes the necessary commentary for understanding the book of nature.11 To Herder, it is important that the creation narrative is a poetic piece of literature. There is a close connection between creation as origin and the poetic experience. Indeed, the poetic act is a continuation of creation. The poet takes part in creating, participates in the creative action of God by reproducing the structures of creation already given in nuce.12 The idea of origin has a hermeneutical dimension, because the way in which humans experience what origin means is contemplating creation through the senses and through poetry.13 Poetry belongs with the origins of human thought and experience of the world. Poetry for Herder comes before prose, and the poetry of the Hebrew Bible represents an original unity of image and experience. Biblical poetry is the kernel from which all later poetic genres have developed as variations.14 The status of the Genesis account as the oldest document of human memory and experience is significant in Herder’s view. Hebrew is the first language received

9 Deneken, “Quand Dieu apprend à parler,” pp. 497–498. 10 Bultmann, “Creation,” p. 28. 11 Bultmann, “Creation,” p. 28. Bultmann points out that the same model of combining natural and revealed religion can be found in Herder’s letters concerning the study of theology. 12 Deneken, “Quand Dieu apprend à parler,” pp. 493–494. 13 “La notion d’origine prend une dimension hernemeutique parce que l’origine peut être expérimentée dans la contemplation sensorielle et poétique de la Création.” Deneken, “Quand Dieu apprend à parler,” p. 493. 14 “Le mashal hébraique constitue aux yeux de Herder la matière originelle qui, dans une sorte de big bang crétif, se difracte ensuite autant de genre poétiques.” Deneken, “Quand Dieu apprend à parler,” p. 508.

24

Jesper Høgenhaven

by humanity, the original language (“Ursprache”) or the sacred language of nature (“heilige Natursprache”).15 In Herder’s early work some of the most important leading precepts regarding the Old Testament literature as poetry are already developed. Genesis is viewed as the oldest surviving piece of human literature, situated at the origins of human culture and written in the oldest human language. The book testifies to a genuine and primitive oriental worldview which is closely associated with the living experience of nature as God’s creation. A true, congenial appreciation of this literature is only possible outside the academic context in a freer setting where the interpreter strives to get closer to the original atmosphere surrounding the text.

Herder on the “spirit of Hebrew poetry” Herder’s major work on the poetry of the Old Testament dates from the early part of his Weimar years (1782). His text clearly has an apologetic character. He intends to confront and counter the scepticism towards the Old Testament prevalent in contemporary rationalistic thinking inside and outside theological circles, which views the Old Testament as an obstacle to reason, a depository of prejudice and superstition from a primitive and long-surpassed past. In short, Herder’s answer to the prevailing critical attitude towards the Old Testament consists in insisting on the poetic and historically conditioned nature of biblical literature. Hebrew poetry is permeated by a spirit of its own, reflecting the living conditions and mentality of an ancient oriental people, and must be read congenially and with a conscious appreciation of its origins and background. When read in this way, the poetry of the Old Testament reveals itself as world literature with a unique ability to move and elevate the human mind, pointing to a profound spiritual truth, which is both human and divine. The full title of Herder’s work is in fact telling: Vom Geist der ebräischen Poesie. Eine Anleitung für die Liebhaber derselben, und der ältesten Geschichte des menschlichen Geistes. Herder attempts to write a guide for the lovers of Hebrew poetry and of the oldest history of the human spirit. His perspective, in other words, is universal. The poetry of the Hebrew Bible is central to the spiritual and intellectual history of mankind as a whole. At the same time, as we shall see, Herder emphasises the concrete nature of the manifestations of the human intellect in their historical and geographical contingency. The expressions of spirit are intimately connected with their time, their place of origin, and the mental attitude of the

15 Deneken, “Quand Dieu apprend à parler,” pp. 502–503.

Poetry in the Hebrew Bible

25

people who created them. This double view reflects Herder’s general approach to history as an organic development of individual contingent intellectual manifestations. Of particular importance for Herder’s perspective on the Hebrew Bible is the contemporary scholarly interest in rediscovering and exploring the cultures and languages of the oriental peoples, spectacularly manifested in the organisation of expeditions to the Middle East, and the philological and archaeological studies inspired and facilitated by these expeditions.16 The outlook of orientalists in this epoch is often described as “Orientalism” in the modern ideological sense, western scholars constructing an image of oriental culture suitable to their own self-understanding or search for identity. Traits of such constructions are clearly discernible in Herder’s work, although, as I shall attempt to show, it is a picture with several nuances and ambiguities.

An “old barbaric language”? The first part of Herder’s composition is shaped in the classical form of a dialogue, which gives Herder the opportunity to address objections he wishes to counter in a direct, straightforward manner. The positions are held by Alciphron, representative of the Enlightenment and from the outset deeply sceptical with regard to the ancient Hebrew writings, and his friend Eutyphron, lover of the poetic spirit of the Old Testament. At the beginning of the book, Alciphron denounces what he perceives as Eutyphron’s obsession with the “old barbaric language” of the Hebrew Bible. Alciphron is himself no lover of the Hebrew language. He is, nevertheless, quite clearly well acquainted with Hebrew and represents the “classroom-based” approach to the biblical language, a person who has been compelled to learn Hebrew and who seems to have loathed it.17 As the conversation continues, Alciphron expresses considerable scepticism when it comes to regarding Hebrew as a language of poetry. In response, Eutyphron sets out to establish some basic concepts concerning poetry: To the necessary elements of a poetic language belong action, representation, passion,

16 A notable example of a scholarly expedition to the Middle East is the Danish Arabian expedition (1761–1767). The descriptions of Arabia written by Carsten Niebuhr, ultimately the only surviving member of the expedition, are available in: Carsten Niebuhr, Beskrivelse af Arabien ud fra egne iagttagelser og i landet selv samlede efterretninger (København: Forlaget Vandkunsten, sine anno). See also Stig T. Rasmussen, ed., Den Arabiske Rejse 1761–1767. En dansk ekspedition set i videnskabshistorisk perspektiv (København: Munksgaard, 1992). 17 As emphasized by Baildam, Paradisal Love, p. 93.

26

Jesper Høgenhaven

melody, and rhythm.18 Any language that has developed these elements is a poetic language. Furthermore, it is necessary to comprehend the natural and cultural context within which a nation develops its language, the land, the way of thinking, including the material living conditions, the kind of things and objects with which this particular nation is familiar and which it has before its eyes every day. Now Alciphron launches a series of more detailed objections to the notion of regarding Hebrew as a language of poetry. The true meaning of Hebrew tenses, he contends, is so uncertain that it is impossible to know if the texts speak of yesterday or tomorrow or of a time a thousand years ago or a thousand years to come! The language has almost no real adjectives to describe things. The meanings of Hebrew roots are often obscure and seem far-fetched. And the prevailing parallelism is repetitive and boring, a perpetual tautology. Eutyphron on the contrary maintains that the texts of the Hebrew Old Testament are no less poetic than the work of Homer himself. He supports his case with linguistic observations: The Hebrew language, he states, is built around the verb, even its nouns are derived from and in a sense remain verbs. Hebrew, according to Eutyphron, is not a language particularly fit for logical abstract reasoning but thus it is all the more suitable for the poet. Hebrew is poor in abstractions but rich in sensual representations. He also reflects that only a tiny remnant of the Hebrew language has survived in the form of the Hebrew scriptures – in the days when it was a living functional language, covering all aspects of life and experience, the language would have been much richer in sensual concrete terms.19 At another point Eutyphron laments the loss of pastoral tales (like the story of Jotham in Judges 9) and rural poetry (like the Song of Songs) with all the images and personifications these lost works must have contained.20 The tone and relation between the two fictive interlocutors remain friendly and open-hearted throughout the dialogue, which, as it turns out, is able gradually to overcome Alciprhon’s animosity towards the Old Testament and its world. There is, as Baildam has pointed out, a certain ironic twist to this development, since the dialogue reveals that Alciphron’s aversion to Old Testament poetry rests on

18 “Was halten Sie einer poetischen Sprache, sie möge Huronen oder Othahiten zugehören, am nothwendigsten? Nicht wahr, Handlung, Darstellung, Leidenschaft, Gesang, Rhytmus?” Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 4. 19 Herder, Vom Geist I, pp. 6–30. 20 “Hätten wir mehrere von ihren Hirtenfabeln, wie Jothams, oder von ihren Landpoesien, wie das Lied der Lieder, welche schöne Dichtungen und Personifikationen würden wir in ihnen finden!” Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 77.

Poetry in the Hebrew Bible

27

prejudice, even though he is portrayed as the representative of Enlightenment and reason.21

Different Poetries and Languages – East and West, North and South Hebrew, like the languages of the ancient Near East in general, developed its vocabulary in accordance with the needs felt by the people who spoke it, for at one time Hebrew was the living language of the land of Canaan. It was only later – after the dispersion of the people among the nations – that Hebrew came to be intermixed with all sorts of foreign elements.22 Eutyphron emphasizes the intimate connection between the language and the climate and natural surroundings in which it emerged. Nordic languages are different from those of the south. This is true at the basic level of phonetics and at every stage thereafter. We – Nordic peoples – speak with the tongue and lips, use the foremost part of the mouth and do not care to open the mouth too much; Italian and Greek, on the other hand, are full of round vowels. The Hebrew language retrieves its tones from somewhere deeper; it is full of the respiration of the soul (“voll Athems der Seele”).23 Hebrew, in short, is a sensual language, Eutyphron assures us. This particular sensuality is associated with the basic grammatical structures of the language. Hebrew has a specific closeness to the reality of things, which is felt or sensed through the connection between words derived from identical roots. And the true poetic nature of Hebrew is also evident from the lack of precision with regard to the time-aspect in the verbal system. Everything is in the present, the representation of an action, whether past, future or continuing: Ihr [der Peosie] ist alles Gegenwärt, Darstellung einer Handlung, sie möge vorbei oder zukünftig seyn, oder fortdauern. Für die Geschichte kann der Mangel, den Sie bemerken, ziemlich wesentlich werden; auch haben die Sprachen, die seine Zeitbestimmungen lieben, diese am meisten im Styl der Geschichte ausgebildet. Bei den Ebräern ist die Geschichte selbst eigentlich Poesie, d. i. Tradition einer Erzählung, die auch als gegenwärtig gemacht wird: also hilft diese Unbestimmtheit oder Verschwebung der Zeiten

21 Baildam, Paradisal Love, pp. 93–94. 22 Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 11. 23 “Wenn diese Lippen sich öfneten, ward es gewiss lebendiger Laut, Bild der Sache im Athem der Empfindung; und das ist, dünkt mich, der Geist der ebräischen Sprache. Sie ist voll Athems der Seele; sie tönt nicht wie die Griechische, aber sie haucht, sie lebet.” Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 15.

28

Jesper Høgenhaven ausdrücklich der Evidenz, der hellen und klaren Gegenwärt dessen, was beschrieben, erzählt oder verkündigt wird.24

The Hebrews, according to Eutyphron, are like children in so far as they wish to say everything at the same time, and so in fact they do: Person, number, time, action are concentrated in one and the same word. One word uttered and immediately we have an entire picture before us. And this, Eutyphron, goes on, is a language most apt for poetic purposes: the verbs full of concentrated meaning, give force to rhythm and imagery: Setzen Sie hinzu, daß die Ebräer wie die Kinder alles auf einmal sagen wollen, daß sie in Einem Schall Person, Zahl, Zeit, Handlung und noch mehr ausdrucken; wie ungeheuer viel trägt dies zur plötzlichen Darstellung Eines ganzen Bildes bei! Sie sagen mit Einem Wort, was wir oft mit fünf oder mehr Worten sagen müssen. Bei uns hinken diese in kleinen oft unaccentuierten Sylben vor oder nach; bei ihnen schließt sich alles als Anklang oder als sonore Endung dem Hauptbegrif an. Er steht in der Mitte, wie ein König; seine Diener und Knechte, dicht an ihm, ja mit ihm Eins, steigen wie eine kleine metrische Region vollstimmig auf einmal hervor – dünkt Ihnen das nichts zur poetischen Sprache? Tönende Verba, die so viele Begriffe auf einmal geben, sind die schönste Gewalt des Rhythmus und der Bilder.25

To distinguish between poetry and prose within ancient Hebrew literature is therefore hardly possible. For the Hebrews history is poetry, the tradition of a tale or narrative made present (“Tradition einer Erzählung, die auch als gegenwärtig

24 “In poetry everything is in the present, the representation of an action, it can be in the past, in the future or continuing. The lack [of tenses with exact meanings] that you mention can be rather important for writing history, and languages that love their indications of time have developed these particularly in the style of history writing. With the Hebrews history is really poetry, i.e., narrative tradition made present, and so this vagueness or floating character of the tenses explicitly assists the obviousness, the bright, clear presence of that which is described, narrated, or proclaimed.” Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 18. 25 “Add to this that the Hebrews, like children, wish to say everything at the same time, that they express person, number, time, action and more in one sound – this contributes enormously to the immediate representation of a whole image! They say in one word what we often must say with five or more words. With us, these come limbering at the beginning or end in small and often non-accentuated syllables, with them everything joins the central concept as prefixes or sonorous endings. The concept stands at the centre like a king. His servants and knights close to him, indeed, united with him, come forward simultaneously as a small poetic region – is that nothing, you think, with respect to poetic language? Sounding verbs, giving so many notions at once, constitute the most beautiful power of rhyme and imagery.” Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 19.

Poetry in the Hebrew Bible

29

gemacht wird”).26 In the passages cited Herder may be said to reflect a construction of oriental culture as being in certain respects primitive or childishly naïve in comparison with the greater sophistication of European culture and thinking. The ancient Hebrews, in their way of structuring their language, resemble children who wish to express everything simultaneously. However, it is noteworthy that Herder has no wish to isolate Hebrew poetry as something entirely distinct from the poetry known from Greek culture. The emphasis on action we find in Hebrew poetry resembles characteristics found in Homer. Indeed, Herder is able to quote Lessing for the observation that in Homeric poetry movement and action are everything: Erinnern Sie sich, was Lessing über Homer gezeigt hat, daß bei ihm alles Gang, Bewegung, Handlung sei, und dass darinn eben sein Leben, seine Wirkung, ja das Wesen aller Poesie bestehe. Nun ist bei den Ebräeren beinahe alles Verbum: d. i. alles lebt und handelt.27

In other words, we have, according to Herder, a very similar emphasis on action and life in early Greek and Hebrew poetic texts. The distinction between naïveté and sophistication is therefore more temporally than geographically founded: The “childlike” fascination with reality as something immediately present, something sensed and felt rather than imagined or remembered, is what lies at the root of a people’s spiritual experience, whether that people belongs to the Orient or to the Occident. It is characteristic of early European as well as ancient oriental languages and works.

Greek and Hebrew Poetry The references Herder makes to aspects of classical Greek poetry in this context are in fact revealing and significant. There seems to be a certain ambiguity inherent in his attempt to establish a close affinity between the poetry of the Hebrew Bible and that of the early Greek authors. Herder clearly seems to make a point of demonstrating that the poetic texts of the Old Testament are as good and valuable as the Greek classics. Obviously this could be viewed as a part of a rhetorical strategy based on the universal recognition among Herder’s contemporaries of the relevance and value of Greek poetry. 26 Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 18. 27 “Remember what Lessing has shown regarding Homer, that with him everything is development, motion, action, and in this lies his life and significance, indeed the essence of all poetry. Now with the Hebrews almost everything is verb, i.e., everything lives and acts.” Herder, Vom Geist I, pp. 7–8.

30

Jesper Høgenhaven

However, there seems also to be a critical perspective involved in Herder’s reference to Greek poetry. Placing Homer on the same level as the Old Testament poets and associating both with the primitive, or original, poetic imagination of the human mind implies a degree of emancipation from the hegemony exercised by the Greek models as the standard by which poetry is judged and evaluated. According to Baildam, Herder wished to overcome the primacy of Greek and Latin poetry as classical models exercising their influence over contemporary German poetry. His attempt at a reassessment of the oldest Greek authors is closely connected to his plea “for something in German literature that would bear the universal character of poetry, thus achieving what he noted enviously had already been achieved by the Hebrews, the Greeks, and the English.”28 At the same time, it is important to note that Herder’s view of Homer and the Greek poets is not only generally positive but an attitude of profound and sincere admiration. Thus, Herder makes a point of emphasising Homer’s status as Volksdichter, whose poems were not written on paper and sold in bookshops but lived in the hearts of the people, sung and enacted.29 In other words, Greek poetry was in its original beginnings natural and primitive, as is Herder’s ideal. In this respect, Greek and Hebrew literature share the same fundamental features. They represent variants of the same primitive or original quality. They stand at the beginning of human imagination and perception of the created world. Both literatures are expressions of an authentic Ursprung, which comes before the sophistication and artificiality that characterize later times.30 We have seen how Herder regards cultures as relative and national in the sense that the cultural products of any given people reflect the particular environment, climate, economy, and daily life of that people. The underlying principle in Herder’s view of literature and art is that of organic growth, as Baildam formulates it.31 Language and Volk are inseparably joined, and the poetic expressions of any nation must be appreciated on its own terms. This plea for the independence and genuineness of each national culture in its own right would seem, if carried 28 Baildam, Paradisal Love, p. 76. Baildam sums up: “It was Herder’s wish to dethrone antiquity as the highest authority in poetry.” (Paradisal Love, p. 77). 29 Baildam, Paradisal Love, p. 75. 30 Herder’s concern for origins (“Ursprung”) is emphasised by Michel Deneken, who points out that Herder has a predilection for concepts construed with the prefix “Ur-.” “Quand Dieu apprend à parler,” p. 492. 31 “The claim that cultures were relative and national was a leading theme in Herder’s work on literature and art, its underlying principle being that of organic growth.” Baildam, Paradisal Love, p. 76.

Poetry in the Hebrew Bible

31

through with consequence, to render translation of poetry from one language and culture to another impossible. This, however, is very obviously not Herder’s viewpoint. In theory as in practice, Herder maintains that it is possible to approach the poetry of a foreign nation by means of imagination and congenial reading, listening to the distinct tone and rhythm of the language in question and carefully adapting oneself to it.32 It may be argued that the dominant distinction in Herder’s perspective is that between primitive, genuine poetry at the beginning of the cultural development of humanity in all its various forms, and the later developments. There is, indeed, something universal about the origins of every culture, which calls for a comparative appreciation of the ancient poetries of Greeks and Hebrews, or Hebrews and Germans.33

The Poetic Style of the Hebrew Bible In the discussion between Alciphron and Eutyphron at the beginning of Herder’s work the two friends debate central issues regarding the nature and qualities of a poetic language. Alciphron holds that the central feature of Hebrew poetry, the parallelism, results in perpetual repetition. Whoever wants to say something should say it right away, he contends, or at the very least continue the image he begins rather than simply repeating himself: Wer jede Sache zweimal sagen muß, zeigt damit nur, dass er sie zum erstenmal halb und unvollkommen sagte.34

Eutyphron replies that Hebrew poetry resembles a dance or a Greek chorus, which expresses itself in strophe and antistrophe. The Hebrew parallelism is the simplest form of equilibrium in images and sounds. As a matter of fact, the oldest Greek poetic metre, the hexameter, also exhibits parallelism with regard to the sounds.

32 “His apparent German chauvinism is explicable in terms of his overall theory that each nation – including his own – had its own distinctive culture which could be approached by way of the imaginative understanding outlined above.” Baildam, Paradisal Love, p. 81. 33 Deneken formulates it thus: “Ce gout pour l’histoire et l’établissement des origines le conduira à une sorte de nationalisme littéraire dans un va-et-vient herméneutique incessant entre le peuble hébreu et le peuble allemande.” “Quand Dieu apprend à parler,” p. 491. 34 “Whoever has to say everything twice, only shows that he half said it and imperfectly the first time.” Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 21.

32

Jesper Høgenhaven

And when it comes to understanding, there is a feeling of mutual reinforcement between the two parallel parts.35 To this apology for the parallelismus membrorum of the Hebrew poets, Alciphron objects that reason is hindered and stopped by parallelism. Eutyphron, however, counters that poetry is not primarily directed at reason alone. When the heart pours itself out, one wave follows another; the heart is never finished but has always more to say: Für den Verstand allein dichtet die Poesie nicht, sondern zuerst und zunächst für die Empfindung. Und ob diese den Parallellismus nicht liebet? Sobald sich das Herz ergießt, strömt Welle auf Welle, das ist Parallellismus. Es hat nie ausgeredt, hat immer etwas neues zu sagen. Sobald die erste Welle sanft verfließt, oder sich prächtig bricht am Felsen, kommt die zweite Welle wieder. Der Pulsschlag der Natur, dies Othemholen der Empfindung ist in allen Reden des Affekts, und Sie wolltens in der Poesie nicht, die doch eigentlich Rede des Affekts seyn soll?36

Even in European languages, Eutyphron contends, parallelism is an effective means of expression. Thus, the alexandrine verse is essentially parallelism and therefore particularly apt at conveying doctrines to be learnt and remembered. With these observations, it seems to Eutyphron (and apparently also to Herder) that he has established his most important point: ancient Hebrew is a poetic language (“eine Dichtersprache”). This appreciation of the true nature of ancient Hebrew should guide the way the language is taught and learned in schools: Die Sprache wird uns nicht mehr Schulmässig und Rabbinisch, sondern alt Ebräisch, d. i. eine Dichtersprache werden. Mit Gedichten in ihr müsste der Knabe aufgeweckt, der Jüngling belohnt warden, und ich bin gewiß, nicht nur Knaben, sondern auch Alte würden ihre Bibel wie einen Homer oder Ossian liebhaben, wenn sie wüssten, was in ihr steht.37

35 Herder, Vom Geist I, pp. 21–22. 36 “Poetry does not direct its creativity at reason alone, but primarily at emotion. Should this not love parallelism? As soon as the heart pours itself out, wave upon wave emerges, that is parallelism. It [the heart] has never finished but always has something new to say. As soon as the first wave softly rolls away or crashes gloriously against the rock, the second wave comes again. The pulse of nature, this breathing of emotion is in every speech of passion, and you would not have it in poetry, which is truly the speech of passion?” Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 24. 37 “To us the language will no longer be academic or rabbinic but ancient Hebrew, that is, a poetic language. Boys should be awakened, and young men rewarded with its poems and I am certain that not only boys but even old people would love their Bible as much as Homer or Ossian, if they knew its contents.” Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 30.

Poetry in the Hebrew Bible

33

Eutyphron and Alciphron make an appointment to continue their conversation outdoors at daybreak, since, as Eutyphron states, the poetry of the Hebrews is in fact the dawn of enlightenment for the world: Weil sie [die Poesie der Ebräer] die Morgenröthe der Aufklärung der Welt gewesen, und wirklich noch jetzt der Kindheit unsres Geschlechts ist. Man sieht in ihr die frühesten Anschauungen, die simpelsten Vorstellungsarten der menschlichen Seele, ihre einfachste Bindung und Leitung.38

The move from an indoor to an outdoor setting is, of course, significant in several respects. It manifests the same fundamental shift in approach to the biblical literature – from the classroom to the world of a living culture – as advocated by Herder in Die älteste Urkunde. Leaving the closed academic surroundings and entering the free open space of nature is an act of liberation and emphasises the association between the poetic world of the biblical texts and the living, sensual experience of the created world. The poetry of the Hebrews, in Eutyphrons’s words, belongs in the open.39 And so the next morning the two friends meet in the light of dawn to debate the notion of God in the Hebrew Bible. The first impression of the divine being, Eutyphron tells his friend, is the notion of overwhelming power but also the conviction that God is benevolent and good. This notion is clearly intended to counter contemporary ideas regarding the God of the Old Testament as the unpredictable and unreliable deity of dark superstition. Indeed, Eutyphron very specifically rejects the idea that religion has its origin in human fear of the destructive overwhelming power of supernatural beings.40 From the notion of the divine, the debate moves on to the fundamental ideas of Hebrew poetry. Poetry is used here in a comprehensive sense. The notion of poetry encompasses and summarises what the Hebrew Bible has to say about the creation of the world. The most basic characteristic feature of Hebrew poetry, according to Eutyphron, is the parallelism between heaven and earth. This contrast leads to the comparison between the infinite and the finite, the immeasurable and that which is nothing: Alles Schöne, Große, Erhabne ist bei den Morgenländern himmlisch; das Niedrige, Schwache, Kleine bleibt am Staube der Erde. Alle Kräfte steigen vom Himmel; was unten

38 “Because it [the poetry of the Hebrews] has been the dawn of the enlightenment of the world, and in fact remains the dawn of the childhood of our race. In it one sees the earliest notions, the simplest ideas of the human soul, its basic guidance and learning.” Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 31. 39 “Die Poesie der Ebräer gehört unter den freien Himmel, und wo möglich, vors Auge der Morgenröthe.” Herder, Vom Geist I, pp. 30–31. 40 Herder, Vom Geist I, pp. 40–49.

34

Jesper Høgenhaven ist wird von obenher durch unsichtbare aber mächtige Bande regiert, geleitet, geordnet. Oben glänzen die ewigen Sterne, da fließt der reine Himmel, da wölbt sich das heilige Blau; hienieden ist alles Wandelbarkeit, Erdenform, Staub und Verwesung. Je mehr die menschliche Seele beides verband und in Einen Blick zu bringen lernte: desto mehr ward ihr Blick groß, richtig, weise.41

The Orientals combine heaven and earth in their poetic view and hold the opposites together, the high and the low, strength and weakness – thence the exaltation of their poetry.42 On the following day the friends discuss the images of night and the situation before creation. The nature of Hebrew poetry is sensual and concrete. Their texts know of no abstract chaos of dancing atoms but conjure up the vivid image of a great dark sea with the wind of God hovering above it.43 For the Orientals, the wind is the primal and most natural image of life, power and movement in the creation – the notion of spirit is directly derived from the nocturnal wind, mixed with power and voice: Sie erinnern mich an jene Erscheinung eines Nachtgeistes bei Hiob – es ist Bild und doch kein Bild: ein vorüber lispelnder Hauch, ein Murmeln wie die Sprache des Windes; aber auch Kraft des Windes, Geisteskraft: er richtet die Haare empor: er erregt alle Schrecken der Seele; he harrows up the foul with fear and wonder: Es stal sich zu mir hinein flüsternd Wort, mein Ohr vernahm: es sprach ein leiser Laut. In der Nachtgesichte Schrecknißstunden, zur Zeit, wenn tiefer Schlaf auf Menschen fällt; da ergrif mich Furcht und Zittern; all’ mein Gebein fuhr Schauer durch. Ein Geist ging vor mir über, all meine Haare sträubten sich empor. Er stand: ich kannt’ ihn nicht!44

41 “Everything beautiful, great and elevated is heavenly to the Orientals, while the low, weak, and small remain in the dust of the earth. All powers descend from heaven, what lies below is ruled, directed, and ordered from above through invisible but powerful bonds. Above the eternal stars glitter, the pure heaven flows, the sacred blue makes up a vault. Down beneath everything is changeable, earthly form, dust and corruption. The more the human soul connected the two and learned to view them in one perspective, the more was this perspective great, true, wise.” Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 54. 42 Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 55. 43 Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 66. 44 “You remind me of the appearance of a nocturnal spirit in Job – it is an image and yet no image: A passing, whispering breath, a murmur like the wind speaking, but also the

Poetry in the Hebrew Bible

35

Another primary image is light, which stands for everything good and bright, joy, purity, and wisdom, and represents the presence of God himself. All images of dawn are associated with waiting, hoping, and desiring.45 From representations of light in Hebrew poetry, Alciphron and Eurtyphron then move on to images of heaven. The oldest and most basic innate image is the heavenly tent, which God stretches out every day, as the great patriarch who helps and provides for humans and animals. The image of God’s tent conveys calm and security and the feeling of a fatherly hospitality connecting God and his creation.46 To sum up, Hebrew poetry is full of a sense of nature, nurtured by her motherly care: Kurz, diese Poesie ist voll Naturgefühl, voll allgemeiner Ordnung und Güte Gottes in seinem weiten Reiche. Sie ist am Busen der Natur gesäugt, im Schoos der großen Mutter erzogen.47

Eutyphron also reflects on the history of the reception of the Hebrew Bible in European culture. Hebrew poetry has lent its tone of praise to all living European languages, the tone of Job, the prophets and the psalms. This tone is found in great European poets: Meines Wissens giebts nur Einen Ton des Lobgesanges in allen jetzt lebenden Europäischen Sprachen; und der ist der Ton Hiobs, der Propheten und Psalmen. Milton hat ihn insonderheit in sein unsterblich Gedicht eingewebet; mit schwächern Tritten betrat

power of the wind, spiritual power. He makes the hair rise, he rouses up all the terrors of the soul.” Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 67. The passage cited (Job 4:12–16) is rendered thus in the RSV: 45

Now a word was brought to me stealthily, my ear received the whisper of it. Amid thoughts from visions of the night, when deep sleep falls on men, dread came upon me, and trembling, which made all my bones shake. A spirit glided past my face; the hair of my flesh stood up. It stood still, but I could not discern its appearance. “Alle Bilder der Dämmerung haben in ihr die Nebenidee des Wartens, der Hoffnung, des Verlangens und die Morgenröthe erfüllt, diese Freude.” Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 69. 46 Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 73. 47 “In brief, this poetry is full of the feeling of nature, full of universal order and the benevolence of God in his vast kingdom. It was nurtured at the bosom of nature, brought up in the embrace of the great mother.” Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 82.

36

Jesper Høgenhaven Thomson seine Spur und bei uns hat ihn Kleist sehr philosophisch verschönert. Diesen Ton, diese Bilder sind wir der Ebräischen Einfalt schuldig.48

Eutyphron’s statement here would seem to strengthen the case for the continued relevance of the reception of Hebrew poetry and its immense influence on European culture. Here again we notice how Herder attempts to create a double perspective on the literature of the Old Testament. On the one hand, he represents the oriental world, its cultures and languages, as something distinct, different from contemporary European thought and in a certain sense exotic. At the same time he strives to demonstrate the fundamental coherence of biblical and European literature, constituting a common and more familiar context for both, which would seem to buttress the claim of relevance for the biblical world and its texts.

Herder’s View of the Bible: Human Literature or Divine Revelation? In one of the initial exchanges with Alciphron, Eutyphron makes clear that his view of the Hebrew texts is that they are entirely human. Hebrew is a human language, and the texts of the Hebrew Bible are to be evaluated only as ancient poetry in this context: Wir wollen sie [die ebräische Sprache] als menschliche Sprache, auch ihren Inhalt nur menschlich betrachten; ja, damit Sie noch gewisser werden, dass ich nicht überschleiche, wir wollen nur von ihre als einem Werkzeuge alter Poesie reden.49

Implicitly, Herder would seem here to reject the traditional reading of the biblical texts as a vehicle for divine revelation. The emphasis on the humanity of the Bible closely resembles the programmatic remarks Herder makes in his slightly earlier work Briefe, das Studium der Theologie betreffend [Letters Concerning the Study of Theology] (1780–1781). Here he states that the Bible should be read in a human way, since it is a book written by humans and for humans. In fact, the more human one’s reading of the Bible is, the closer one will get to the aim of its initiator, God,

48 “As far as I know there is only one tone of praise in all the living European languages, and that is the tone of Job, the Prophets and the Psalms. Milton in particular has woven it into his immortal poem, Thomson followed its trace with weaker steps, and in our realm, Kleist has adorned it philosophically. We owe this tone, these images to the Hebrew simplicity.” Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 85. 49 “We will look at it [the Hebrew language] as a human language, and see its contents as only human. To make sure that I do not make a covert attempt, we will speak of it solely as an instrument of ancient poetry.” Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 4.

Poetry in the Hebrew Bible

37

who created humans in his image and in all his divine deeds and works always acts for the benefit of humans.50 In other words, the human hermeneutical perspective advocated here by Herder through the words of Eutyphron is not a mere rhetorical strategy connected with the dialogue form or with the apologetic intentions of the book. It stems from a deep conviction that the humanity of the texts and their being rooted in a particular geographical and historical setting are essential to an appropriate understanding. The Bible is a work of literature coming out of the Orient, which could not have originated in any other culture. It is an authentic and highly valuable expression of the Volksgeist of a people, a piece of oriental poetry from the beginning of the history of mankind.51 Herder does not acknowledge a supernatural origin for the Bible, and in this sense it is correct to say, as Baildam does, that “the divine nature of the Bible was not totally denied, but the Bible was no more divine than any other work of poetry.”52 It should be emphasised, however, that for Herder the human and divine aspects are intrinsically united and it is exactly the human character of the biblical texts that make them into a vehicle of divine revelation.53 Since all things are, in Herder’s view, a revelation of God, there would seem to be little or no need for “a special, supernatural revelation.”54 On the other hand, Herder is able to maintain that the language of the Bible is divine because it is the most human language that exists.55 By insisting on the continued relevance of the Bible in its human and divine aspects and in its historical and cultural particularity, Herder establishes a distance both to traditional orthodox theology with its emphasis on the supernatural character of the revelation witnessed by the biblical texts and to contemporary rationalism, which views the Bible as nothing more than a witness from a distant past, which has been superseded by reason. For Herder, there can be no opposition between revelation and nature. One may ask, obviously, whether Herder sees the Bible as a product of the particularly poetic Hebrew mind, which – as a historical fact – made this people into a chosen people. Or is it, according to Herder, rather the fact that the people was chosen by God that makes the Hebrew language a special “sacred” tongue with particular poetic qualities? From Herder’s 50 Cf. Baildam, Paradisal Love, p. 91. 51 Cf. Baildam, Paradisal Love, p. 90. 52 Baildam, Paradisal Love, p. 92. Baildam states: “His reading of it [the Bible] was a kind of secularizing revelatory pantheism, poetic and humanistic.” Paradisal Love, p. 91. 53 As Michel Deneken formulates it: “C’est cette humanité de la Bible qui scelle le caractère divin de la Révélation.” “Quand Dieu apprends à parler,” p. 493. 54 Baildam, Paradisal Love, p. 91. 55 Cf. Deneken, “Quand Dieu apprend à parler,” p. 496.

38

Jesper Høgenhaven

own perspective, this alternative would hardly have been meaningful or, indeed, constituted a problem.56

Example: The Book of Job When Eutyphron and Alciphron meet again, Alciphron is reading the Book of Job and they initiate a conversation regarding length and breadth – we (moderns) appreciate brevity and clarity in the sequence of ideas, whilst the Orientals have the patience to endure long speeches. They are, Eutyphron explains, like pearls from the depths of the ocean, lightly joined but precious: Die Morgenländer hören sich in ihren Zusammenkünften geruhig aus; ja sie lieben lange Reden, zumal in solchen Versen. Es sind Perlen aus der Tiefe des Meers; leicht gereihet, aber köstlich: Schätze der Wissenschaft und Weisheit in Sprüchen ältester Zeit.57

They dwell on the mighty images of heaven and earth particularly in the divine speeches at the end of the book. Everything – light, night, death – is personified, given life, and given palaces and houses (102). An example is the words spoken by God to Job (Job 38:19–21): Wo wohnt das Licht? wo ist der Weg zu ihm? Die Finsterniß? wo ist ihr Ort? Daß du sie bis zu ihrer Grenz’ ertappest: Denn du weißt ja den Richtpfad’ in ihr Haus! Du weißt es, denn du warest damals schon gebohren, und deiner Tage Zahl ist groß!58

56 Deneken (“Quand Dieu apprend à parler,” p. 504) claims that the question remains unresolved in Herder’s work. But cf. Deneken’s formulation: “L’hébreu n’est pas la langue sacrée parce que Dieu la parle. C’est parce que que Dieu a trouvé dans la langue hébraïque le plus beau et le plus poétique des moyens d’expressions ‘humaines’ qu’il parle cette langue biblique.” “Quand Dieu apprend à parler,” pp. 501–502. 57 “The Orientals calmly hear each other out in their gatherings, indeed, they love long speeches, especially in this kind of verse. They are pearls from the depth of the ocean, lightly strung together but precious: treasures of science and wisdom in the oldest proverbs.” Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 90. 58 Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 102. The quotation (Job 38:19–21) is rendered thus in the RSV:

Where is the dwelling of light, and where is the place of darkness, that you may take it to its territory and that you may discern the path to its home? You know, for you were born then, and the number of your days is great.

Poetry in the Hebrew Bible

39

Herder underlines the insoluble bond between the poetry and its original land and language. Who could write poetry like the Orientals? Alciphron asks. The answer is that nobody should attempt any such endeavour; for every language, nation, and climate has its own measure and its own sources for making poetry. We should not try to borrow poetic expressions from so distant peoples, but we should try to draw from the sources: A[lciphron]. Ja, Freund, wer kann und mag aber auch wie die Morgenländer dichten? Den Ocean als ein gewindeltes Kind, Zeughäuser des Schnees und Hagels, im Himmel Wasserkanäle – wer mag das? E[utyphron]. Niemand solls: den jede Sprache, jede Nation, jedes Klima hat ein eignes Maas und eigne Quellen seiner Lieblingsdichtung. Es zeigte elende Armuth an, wenn man so entlegnen Völkern borgen wollte; aber denselben Weg gehen, müssen wir! Und aus eben den Quellen schöpfen.59

Alciphron philosophises that times of ignorance had advantages over times of enlightenment in which nature is acknowledged and studied. Eutyphron counters that all sensual peoples know nature; indeed they have a living knowledge of nature better than that of the learned scientists. He goes on to speculate that every epoch must produce its own poetry of nature, we simply have not yet seen a poet with the capacity of making living, vivid images out of the modern world of Newton and its perceptions of the universe.60 What is important, however, is not to measure the detailed perceptions of the Old Testament texts against the notions of modern physics. The fundamental idea of the world as a coherent whole, as God’s household with meaning and order permeating every detail, is noble and in harmony with the doctrines of modern science. Alciphron and Eutyphron engage in some more detailed debates regarding the poetic devices of the Old Testament texts. Our modern critics, Alciphron points out, advise a very restricted use of personifications to adorn poetic works. This is true, Eutyphron concedes, when personification is merely a means of adornment.

59 “A. Yes, friend, who can and who may write poetry like the Orientals? The ocean as a baby in diapers, storehouses for snow and hail, water canals in heaven – who can do that? E. Nobody should, for every language, every nation, every climate has its own measure and its own sources for its favourite poetry. It would testify to the utmost poverty if one had to borrow from so distant peoples, but we must tread the same path and even draw from those sources.” Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 107. 60 Herder, Vom Geist I, pp. 108–109.

40

Jesper Høgenhaven

In the poetry of the Hebrew Bible, however, everything is soul, vivification. In this, Eutyphron remarks, the Hebrew Bible resembles the poems of Ossian: Nicht wahr, Ossian ist kein Morgenländer, auch nicht einmal ein eigentlicher Naturschilderer; und – alle Gegenstände sind bei ihm personificirt, voll Leben, voll Bewegung: sei’s Wind und Welle, oder gar der Bart einer Distel. Die Sonne ist ihm ein rascher Jüngling, der Mond ein Mädchen, der auch Schwestern, andere Monden, am Himmel gehabt hat, der Abendstern ein lieblicher Knabe, der kommt, blickt, und wieder weggeht – Kurz, Ossian ist in Personificationen Hiobs Bruder.61

The phenomenon, in other words, though characteristic of the oriental way of looking at things, as the Book of Job testifies, is not restricted to the oriental realm. Here once again we observe how Herder strives to present the great authentic poetry of the Hebrews and the highlights of primitive European literature as existing in a relationship of fundamental continuity.

Example: The Tree of Life Another round of dialogue focuses on the paradise story at the beginning of Genesis. The narrative is a tale which constitutes the beginning or common origin of all later tales of the paradise. Thence its vagueness as far as the location of the paradise is concerned. They move on to the tree of life which stands at the beginning and at the end of biblical literature, and which they characterise as the beginning and end of Hebrew poetry.62 The tree of life is highlighted as the central image of immortality in oriental poetry: Ein schöner Anfang! ein schönes Ende! Wie ist das Paradies Adams von den Propheten veredelt worden! Sie hobens in die Zeiten des Messias; die Schriften des N. T. haben es gar in den Himmel gehoben. Da blühet der Baum des Lebens! Da schiffen wir alle hin, und suchen jenseit der Flüsse und Weltmeere das alte Goldland, die ewig glücklichen Inseln. In der ganzen morgenländischen Dichtkunst, auch bei Arabern und Persern sind die Ideen des Paradieses das Ideal menschlicher Glückseligkeit und Freude: es ist der Traum ihrer Liebe, ihrer Jugend, ihrer Hoffnungen und endlich gar der zukünftigen Welt –

61 “Is it not true – Ossian is not an Oriental, he does not even really depict nature, and yet with him all objects are personified, full of life, full of motion, whether it is wind and waves or even the beard of a thistle. The sun is to him a sporty youth, the moon is a girl who also once had sisters, other moons in the sky. The evening star is a lovely boy who appears, looks and leaves again – in brief, Ossian is a brother of Job in personifications.” Herder, Vom Geist I, pp. 113–114. 62 Herder, Vom Geist I, pp. 154–155.

Poetry in the Hebrew Bible

41

wo nichts vom Eitlen mehr gehöret wird, und kein Andenken ist erstickender Angst: wo alles bleibend ist und angenehm, ein ewig Brautbett, ewge Morgenröthe, und Wasser süßer Düfte rinnen, und Bäume treuen Schatten geben; der nimmer weichet, nie verwelkt.63

Alciphron puts forward the objection to the biblical paradise account that it is too worldly and sensual. Sensuality, Eutyphron replies, is at the heart of the oriental peoples. They feel and sense in a finer way. And it is a misuse of the old Hebrew imagery when some people – like the Muslims – decide to dwell in the sensual character of the paradise.64 Herder, however, finds place here to make a brief apology on behalf of the Muslim tradition: The Muslim notion of paradise is often misrepresented, since in fact there is a tradition of spiritualizing interpretation that is regularly overlooked. Again, an appeal is made to associate poetic imagery and the landscape and natural conditions that shaped it. The Orientals, in their hot, arid landscape, see remnants and glimpses of paradise wherever a tree offers shadow or a cool spring flows. And, Eutyphron adds, would it be a better notion of paradise to do as the Nordic heroes who transformed their paradise into a golden dining hall loaded with beer and saw the wild war described by Hobbes as the natural state?65

63 “A beautiful beginning, a beautiful end. How Adam’s paradise has become sublimated. They lifted it into the times of the Messiah, the New Testament writings even elevated it to the heavens. There the tree of life blooms. That is where we are all headed, seeking the ancient land of gold, the ever happy isles beyond the rivers and oceans of earth. In all oriental poetry, even that of Arabs and Persians, the notions of paradise are the ideal of human beatitude and happiness, it is the dream of their love, their youth, their hopes and, finally, the world to come. Where nothing vain is ever heard of, and there is no memory of stinging fear. Where all is permanent and pleasant, an eternal bride’s bed, an eternal dawn, and sweetly scented waters run and trees give faithful shadow never faltering or withering.” Herder, Vom Geist I, pp. 155–156. 64 “Wenn Wohllust-trunkne Leute daran hangen blieben: wenn Mahomed endlich das Paradies der Freuden nach seinen Neigungen grob sinnlich dachte; so ist dies die Schuld des Misbrauchs, nicht der Sache.” (Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 156). 65 Herder, Vom Geist I, p. 157.

42

Jesper Høgenhaven

Example: The Psalms of David It is in his treatment of the biblical Book of Psalms, however, that Herder develops most fully a poetic theory of the Hebrew Bible. This is developed in the second part of the work, where Herder has chosen to abandon the dialogue form. When it comes to interpreting biblical psalms, Herder warns, the reader should neither confront the emotions expressed in the texts with hostility nor blindly pretend to assume and defend each and every expression. Unlike David – whom Herder, in accordance with the tradition still prevailing in the late eighteenth century, regards as the author of many of the psalms – we are not kings or fugitives. Instead we should strive to understand these emotions seen against their individual historical backgrounds. David, as he is depicted in the narratives of the Hebrew Bible, is far from being a flawless character. He is, first and foremost, a human being and if we try to view everything in Psalms in a superhuman light we will end up seeing nothing: David hatte seine Affekten und Sorgen als Flüchtling und als König: wir sind keins von beiden, dörfen also weder Feinde verwünschen, die wir nicht haben, noch gegen sie als Sieger großthun; aber verstehen und schätzen müssen wir diese Empfindungen lernen.66

David should not be judged according to the rules and standards of modern European poetics, which are based primarily on the odes of Horace, even though they themselves do not always fit the rules, as Herder remarks.67 In opposition to any set of rules imposed from the outside, Herder emphasizes the natural simplicity of the Hebrew psalms. Most of them, he claims, were not composed as works of art, but stream from the true feelings of an aroused heart: Bei den Ebräischen Liedern ist Einfalt der Entwicklung vor andern nöthig, da die wenigsten als Kunstwerke gemacht wurden; aber dafür als wahre Empfindungen aus einem erregten Herzen qoullen.68

66 “David had his passions and worries as fugitive and as king. We are neither, and may not curse enemies that we do not have, nor loftily claim victory over them, but we must learn to understand and appreciate these feelings.” Herder, Vom Geist II, p. 316. 67 Herder, Vom Geist II, p. 317. 68 “In the Hebrew songs what is necessary above all is simplicity of development, for most of them are not works of art but spring from an aroused heart as true emotions.” Herder, Vom Geist II, pp. 318–319.

Poetry in the Hebrew Bible

43

Beginning with the simplest form, certain psalms present and develop a single idea. An example of this is Psalm 133, which praises the unity and harmony of brothers: Siehe wie lieblich ists und schön, wenn Brüder friedlich mit einander wohnen! – So duftet Wohlgeruch die reiche Salbe auf Hohepriesters Haupt: und rinnt hinab zu seinem Bart, und rinnt zu seines Kleides Saum. So steiget Hermons Thau hernieder befruchtend Zions Berge, denn da gebot Jehovah wohn’ ewig ewig Glück.69

Psalm 23, with the shepherd image, should also, according to Herder, be understood in the light of David’s history. The psalm reflects a situation of exile and tribulation. This is evident from the end of the text, where the imagery changes from the sheepfold to the notion of a fugitive king longing to enjoy a royal meal in front of his persecutors: Daß das schöne Lied [Psalm 23] auf einer Flucht gemacht sei, zeigt das Ende. Der Anfang war ruhige Idylle: ihre Empfindung zerriß aber und verließ das Bild des Schaafes. Ein Freudenmahl wird angerichtet, ein königlich Mahl, seinen Drängern vor Augen. Die frohe Empfindung steigt bis zu der Cäsarischen Überzeugung, daß Lebenslang ihn das Glück verfolge.70

69 Herder, Vom Geist II, p. 320. Psalm 133 is rendered in RSV: 70

Behold, how good and pleasant it is, When brothers dwell in unity! It is like the precious oil upon the head, Running down upon the beard, Upon the beard of Aaron, Running down on the collar of his robes! It is like the dew of Hermon, Which falls on the mountains of Zion! For there the Lord has commanded the blessing, Life for evermore. “That this beautiful song was made during flight becomes clear at the end. The beginning was calm harmony, but that feeling was disrupted, and the image of the sheepfold was abandoned. A joyous meal is arranged, a royal meal before the eyes of his persecutors. The happy feeling grows and reaches the Caesarian conviction that happiness will follow him all his life.” Herder, Vom Geist II, pp. 322–323.

44

Jesper Høgenhaven

To enjoy the beauty of psalms one has to imitate the simplicity of their time of origin.71 Most Hebrew psalms are prayer texts and to be properly used and understood they require the kind of devotion characteristic of the Orientals, a quiet astonishment at the works of God, changing between ecstatic elevation and submission. As for the style of these poems, it moves swiftly from point to point, touches the ideas briefly but with weight and likes to repeat the emphasis. Objects are depicted in movement. Reception of this poetry calls for a quiet mind. Its beauty does not open itself to the scornful or over-sophisticated attitude. Herder compares the effect with that of the sky reflected in the bright calm sea where every small circling wave becomes visible.

Concluding Observations The growth of oriental studies in late eighteenth century Europe opened up new areas of linguistic, archaeological, and historical knowledge of the peoples and cultures of the Near East, including the world of the Hebrew biblical texts. Herder’s approach to Hebrew poetry documents this new perspective on the texts, viewing them not primarily in their well-known and familiar cultural context – as a part of the Christian Bible – but as evidence for an ancient Near Eastern culture very different from the ways of thinking of and perceiving the world in modern Europe. This perspective enables Herder to establish a certain hermeneutical distance to the universe of the Old Testament and to appreciate the poetic texts in their own right in the sense that they appear as a literature which follows its own inherent rules of expression, in particular when it comes to the use of imagery. Consequently, it is a mistake to evaluate the poetry of the Hebrew Bible according to modern European literary standards. While establishing the spirit of Hebrew poetry as something distinct from European poetry in this sense – as the poetic achievement of an oriental people to be appreciated and understood as such – Herder also at several points emphasizes the affinity between aspects of Hebrew poetry and poetic texts from the European classical tradition represented by Homer or Ossian. This repeated emphasis on kinship in spite of differences between the poetry of the Old Testament and the western literary heritage may be understood, obviously, in the light of Herder’s overall apologetic interest: when it comes to the end of the day, the gap between the world of the Old Testament and the spiritual and intellectual experience of contemporary Europe is not unbridgeable and the biblical texts can therefore be claimed to be relevant and important 71 “Das Schöne der schönsten Psalmen zu fühlen, wird Versetzung in die damalige Zeit erfordert, also Einfalt.” Herder, Vom Geist II, p. 342.

Poetry in the Hebrew Bible

45

even for Herder’s own time. However, we should also bear in mind that the double perspective on ancient literatures – as particular manifestations of the human intellect rooted firmly in their time and place of origin and as expressions of a universal spiritual history of mankind – is central to Herder’s understanding of intellectual and cultural history in general. Indeed, his primary concern lies in the appreciation of Hebrew poetic texts, as well as other early manifestations of poetic spirit, as testimonies to an original, primitive, or authentic human experience of God and the created world.

Bibliography Baildam, John D. Paradisal Love. Johann Gottfried Herder and the Song of Songs. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series 298. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999. Bultmann, Christoph. “Creation at the Beginning of History: Johann Gottfried Herder’s Interpretation of Genesis 1.” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament, Vol. 68, 1995, pp. 23–32. Clark, Robert T. Herder. His Life and Thought. Berkely and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1955. Deneken, Michel. “Quand Dieu apprend à parler aux hommes: Herder et la Bible.” Recherches de Science Religieuse, Vol. 90, 2002, pp. 487–508. Dietze, Walter. Johann Gottfried von Herder. Abriss seines Lebens und Schaffens. Berlin and Weimar: Aufbau-Verlag, 1980. Herder, Johann Gottfried von. Vom Geist der ebräischen Poesie. Eine Anleitung für die Liebhaber derselben und der ältesten Geschichte des menschlichen Geistes, I–II. Dessau: Buchhandlung der Gelehrten, 1782–1783. Herder, Johann Gottfried von. Älteste Urkunde des Menschengeschlechts. Eine nach Jahrhunderten enthüllte heilige Schrift I. Tübingen: In der J.G. Cotta’schen Buchhandlung, 1806 [1774]. Herms, Eilert. “Herder, Johann Gottfried von (1744–1803).” In: Theologische Realenzyklopädie, Vol. XV, ed. Gerhard Müller et al. Berlin-New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1986, pp. 70–95.

Laura Feldt

Poetic Narratives: Moving Images in Old Babylonian Myths and the Characterisation of the Hero Gods Inana and Ninurta Abstract: This article discusses the functions of poetry in religious narratives from ancient Mesopotamia, and it argues that the literary form of myth is crucial for understanding how religious narratives function. It focuses on Old-Babylonian compositions about Inana and Ninurta, and it raises questions about imagery, literature, and religion in Mesopotamia.

Introduction In the study of religion, a strong trend frames religious narrative as a medium for the establishment and maintenance of order and meaningfulness, and its content as authoritative, monologic, and closed. The capacity of myths to provide orientation and maintenance of religious representations, practices, and institutions,1 and their narrative form, are aspects often stressed.2 However, a detailed attention to literary form and poetry in religious narratives is rare. Much of the traditional premodern material of the history of religions falling into the category of myth – Greek, Hebrew, Roman, Hindu, Old English, Islamic, Old Norse and others – is literary and put into writing by very skilled and highly educated scribes belonging to refined cultures of transmission,3 and yet there has been relatively little

1 Jan Assmann, Das kulturelle Gedächtnis: Schrift, Erinnerung und politische Identität in frühen Hochkulturen (München: C.H. Beck, 1992), pp. 75–79; Jeppe S. Jensen, Myths and Mythologies. A Reader, Critical Categories in the Study of Religion (London: Equinox, 2009), p. 8; R.T. McCutcheon, “Myth,” in: Guide to the Study of Religion, ed. W. Braun and R.T. McCutcheon (London and New York: Cassell, 2000), pp. 190–208. 2 Laura Feldt, “Myths and Narratology: Narrative Form, Meaning and Function in the Standard Babylonian Epic of Anzû,” Bulletin for the Study of Religion, Vol. 42, No. 4 (2013), pp. 22–29. 3 E.g., Peter Brown, The Rise of Western Christendom (Oxford: Blackwell, 2003), pp. 463– 88; Kevin Wanner, “Cunning Intelligence in Norse Myth,” History of Religions, Vol. 48, No. 3 (2009), pp. 211–246.

48

Laura Feldt

theoretical discussion of the literary study of myth beyond area studies.4 This contribution considers the functions of image-intensive segments of poetry in religious narratives from ancient Mesopotamia, with special attention to how the deities are characterised. I argue that attention to the literary form of myth is crucial for understanding how religious narratives function, for analyses of how deities, monsters, and other exemplary characters function for their recipients. This contribution analyses a selection of poems about the deities Inana and Ninurta embedded in Sumerian narrative compositions from the Old Babylonian period. It analyses which traits are characteristic of the poetic passages, and of the imagery used of the deities, in their larger, narrative contexts, and discusses what characterises figurative language and divine characterisation in these Sumerian religious narratives. These compositions raise interesting questions with regard to the distinction of the basic literary genres of poetry and narrative in Sumerian texts, and concomitantly with regard to the distinction of myth. The purpose of the article is thus to raise and discuss questions about imagery, literature, and religion in ancient Mesopotamia.

Imagery in Narrative Narratology is a complex field of theories designed to aid us in the analysis of narratives.5 It has been associated with structuralist and formalist analysis, but that is much too narrow an understanding today, where a multi-disciplinary field dealing with the analysis of narratives cross-culturally and across many media has developed;6 a field that connects to other fields such as cognitive theory,7 media

4 This aspect is not treated much for instance in Robert A. Segal, Myth. A Very Short Introduction (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), pp. 79–90; nor in the new 2015 edition of the same book. 5 The following presentation of narratology draws on and overlaps somewhat with my previous presentation of narratology in Feldt, “Myths and Narratology.” 6 See, e.g., Ansgar Nünning and Vera Nünning, eds., Neue Ansätze in der Erzähltheorie, WVT Handbücher zum Literaturwissenschaftlichen Studium, 4 (Trier: Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier, 2003a), and Erzähltheorie transgeneisch, intermedial, interdisciplinär, WVT Handbücher zum Literaturwissenschaftlichen Studium, 5 (Trier: Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier, 2003b); Peter Hühn et al., eds., Handbook of Narratology (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2009); Greta Olson, Current Trends in Narratology (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2011). 7 Monika Fludernik, Towards a Natural Narratology (London: Routledge, 1996).

Moving Images in Old Babylonian Myths

49

studies,8 as well as religious studies.9 Here, my interest is in the Old-Babylonian narratives as media encompassing different genres and embedded in particular contexts of production and use. While they are media carried by a narrative voice and addressing a recipient, aiming to influence her or him to perceive the story in a specific way, they also contain large poetic segments. Here, I will discuss both.10 In order to analyse narratives, most narrative theories distinguish between what is narrated (“story,” “fabula,” “histoire” are varying terms) and how it is narrated (“discours,” “suizhet,” “plot”); in other words, most narratologies distinguish between two analytical levels in a narrative – the what and the how.11 Mieke Bal’s theory of narrativity12 offers instead a three-fold distinction: in all narratives, three layers can be analytically differentiated, namely “fabula,” “story,” and “text.” The term “fabula” refers to the basic structure of the narrative, to the series of logically related events in chronological sequence, caused or experienced by the actors of the narrative. “Story” is, then, the fabula presented in a specific way; that is, the “story” may present the fabula in a variety of ways, not necessarily chronologically or in full, while “text” is the concrete sequence of linguistic signs (e.g., oral words, written sentences, film images, statues, reliefs…) that convey the “story.” The “fabula” corresponds to the “what” of the narrative, the “story” to the “how,” while “text” refers to the concrete and material manifestation of “signs” used.13 One of the advantages of Bal’s theory is that narrative analysis does not stop with an analysis of narrative structure (“fabula”), or with the distinction between fabula and plot (“story”), but it takes into consideration also the material form or medium of expression (“text”). The two “myths” selected for analysis here share the basic hero-myth fabula, with 8 Marie-Laure Ryan, Narratives Across Media (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2004). 9 Armin W. Geertz and Jeppe S. Jensen, Religious Narrative, Cognition and Culture (London: Equinox, 2011). 10 How a recipient then perceives the story is another matter, but a well-founded narratological analysis accounts for the conditions of the process of reception. 11 Mieke Bal, Narratology: Introduction to the Theory of Narrative (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997), pp. 78–80. 12 Bal, Narratology, pp. 5–7. 13 The “texts” of narratives may differ, even if their “stories” are the same. Therefore, it is useful to examine the “text” layer separately from the “story.” The basic structure of events, the fabula, and the way in which the events are presented (“story”) may also differ. We thus assume that it is possible to analyse the three layers separately; this does not, however, mean that the layers exist independently of analysis. The analysis is an attempt to account for the special effects that narratives may have on its recipients; Bal, Narratology, pp. 5–10; Feldt, “Myths and Narratology.”

50

Laura Feldt

a hero’s battle and victory against an enemy monster.14 For analyses of imagery in narratives, for embedded poetry used in divine characterization, we will be looking at the “story”- and “text”-levels of analysis15 to see how they may alter or complicate the communication of the basic fabula. My primary interest in this paper is in the imagery used in the poetic text segments of the narratives; therefore a few words on metaphor theory are necessary.16 Current metaphor theories understand metaphor as a unique cognitive vehicle, which expresses something that cannot be said in any other way. This type of theory disagrees with the view of metaphor as a deviation in word use, and instead sees metaphor as something happening at the level of the utterance.17 What happens in metaphor is not related to one word only, but hinges on the interaction of all parts of the utterance – and the context. New meaning is created, which is why metaphor has the ability to convey new information; it is not mere ornament. The advent of this type of theory marks a turning point within the field of metaphor studies, because the positive and unique role of metaphor is acknowledged, and an opening is created for the wealth of interest and cross-disciplinary research that have sprouted since the pioneers of the field of metaphor theory presented their works.18 These theories may – in spite of differences – be called interaction theories, because they see metaphor as a kind of interaction, or conflict or tension, between different domains, subjects, or terms, in an utterance.19 In my work, I have found it crucial that the analysis of metaphor is grounded in hermeneutics, because in any analysis of literary and religious metaphors, context is crucial. The present contribution will be conducted within a hermeneutical frame, considering 14 See Feldt, “Myths and Narratology”; Laura Feldt, “Reading the Monstrous: An Example of Sumerian Heroic Literature,” in: Readings in Eastern Mediterranean Literatures, ed. Kerstin Eksell and Laura Feldt (Würzburg: Ergon, 2006), pp. 83–127. 15 Bal, Narratology, pp. 36–43, 145–155. 16 The following section on metaphor overlaps with my previous presentation of metaphor theory in relation to Sumerian literature in Laura Feldt, “On Divine-referent Bull Metaphors in the ETCSL Corpus,” in: Reading Literary Sumerian: Corpus-Based Approaches, ed. Jarle Ebeling (London: Equinox Publishing, 2007), pp. 184–214. 17 Punter, Metaphor, pp. 1–25. 18 I.A. Richards, whose work The Philosophy of Rhetoric gained seminal effect, M. Black, M. Beardsley, and N. Goodman, to mention the more known thinkers. See Janet Soskice, Metaphor and Religious Language (Oxford: Clarendon, 1985), for a thorough discussion. 19 Soskice, Metaphor, pp. 31–51; Göran Eidevall, Grapes in the Desert (Stockholm: Almquist & Wiksell, 1996), pp. 19–24; David Punter, Metaphor: The New Critical Idiom (London: Routledge, 2007), pp. 1–25.

Moving Images in Old Babylonian Myths

51

also the larger frames of the literary and social contexts of the imagery, and it will be based on an interaction theory of metaphor. While the field certainly has seen quite a bit of discussion on the subject, there seems to be a consensus today that metaphor cannot be explained without reference to extra-linguistic, i.e., pragmatic, factors like context, intention, reference, and pre-understanding, and that substitutive and emotive theories are generally inadequate.20 However, for this analysis it is necessary not only to see metaphor theory within the general framework of hermeneutics with its sound emphasis on historical context and usage, but also to make some pointers towards media theory. Recent insights in the field of religion and media understand the field as about much more than simply religion in modern news and mass media, namely as a range of ways in which religions use media in order to reproduce themselves – from ancient narrative and poetic genres, to specific ritual forms, ascetic training, church architecture, religious paraphernalia such as rosaries and figurines, as well as the internet and social media.21 This means that religious phenomena and representations must be analysed taking into account their media contexts. The aesthetic forms and contexts in which religious representations are embedded are crucial for how they are understood and used – from large rituals and processions, to sermons, incantations, orations, to poetic and image-rich text segments of written myths.

Poetic Imagery and Divine Characterisation in Mesopotamian Literature Some of the principal difficulties in the study of metaphorical language – especially from foreign or historically distant cultures such as those of the ancient Near East – revolve around problems of the classification, status, and referentiality 20 Punter, Metaphor; Soskice, Metaphor, p. 38; Eidevall, Grapes, pp. 27–30; Paul Ricoeur, The Rule of Metaphor: Multi-Disciplinary Studies of the Creation of Meaning in Language (London: Routledge, 1977), p. 89; Mark Brettler, God is King: Understanding an Israelite Metaphor (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1989), p. 21. 21 Birgit Meyer, “Mediation and Immediacy: Sensational Forms, Semiotic Ideologies, and the Question of the Medium,” Social Anthropology, Vol. 19, No. 1 (2011), pp. 23–39; “Religious Sensations: Why Media, Aesthetics and Power Matter in the Study of Contemporary Religion,” in: Religion: Beyond a Concept, ed. Hent de Vries (New York: Fordham University Press, 2008), pp. 704–723; David Morgan, The Embodied Eye: Religious Visual Culture and the Social Life of Feeling (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012); David Morgan, “Materiality, Social Analysis, and the Study of Religions,” in Religion and Material Culture: The Matter of Belief, ed. David Morgan (London: Routledge, 2010).

52

Laura Feldt

of poetic imagery. The problem of classification involves distinctions between metaphors, similes, metonymies, synecdoche, parables, allegories, etc., while the problem of status involves distinctions between live, conventionalised, and dead images. Images may be “live” images as in the closing line of e.e. cummings’ famous poem Somewhere I have never travelled: “nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands”; conventional as in “my beloved is a rose”; or dead, as in “the road runs to Copenhagen.” Finally, the problem of referentiality relates to questions of whether and how metaphors refer; a problem which is closely related to the problem of status. Now, I will comment on each problem as it relates to my object of analysis. As for problems of classification,22 most metaphor theories have identified major challenges with regard to distinguishing between metaphor (“he is a serpent”) and simile (“he is like a serpent”).23 Some have seen metaphors and similes as dissimilar, understanding simile as a simple comparison, because it does not posit identity (is) between the elements brought together in a metaphor, but only similarity (is like).24 Only if we use simple examples such as “these cookies are like cement,” where the comparison is indeed narrow, does this point hold. A metaphor with the same content would function in the same way (“these cookies are made of cement”). More importantly, in Sumerian, a technical distinction between metaphor and simile is difficult to make. Although similes are sometimes marked with -gin7 (-ginx), it is also true that not all occurrences of -gin7 indicate a simile. There appears to be a similarity between some similes and some adverbs, as seen in the use of the suffixes -am3, -še3, and -bi, and in the addition of an adjective to a noun in a compound verb. As previously pointed out, in Sumerian, we find grammatical reasons for why it is difficult to distinguish between metaphors and similes.25 The “simile marker” -gin7 is sometimes replaced with or alternates with the suffix -am3 in parallel phrases or in different manuscripts of the same lines (-am3 is the 3rd person sg. copula suffix of the verb “to be”). Hence, with regard

22 Again, see also Feldt, “Divine-referent,” where I also discuss these issues. 23 The other distinctions (metonymy, catachresis, analogy, etc.) usually do not pose problems. For an overview, see Soskice, Metaphor, pp. 54–66. 24 Punter, Metaphor, pp. 26–42; Soskice, Metaphor, pp. 58–59. 25 See Feldt, “Divine-Referent.” See Pascal Attinger, Eléments de linguistique sumérienne. La construction de du11/e/di “dire,” Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis, Sonderband (Fribourg: Editions Universitaires/Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993), p. 260 for more on the relationship between the morphemes and the adverbiative case marker (eš2).

Moving Images in Old Babylonian Myths

53

to Sumerian literature, hard distinctions between metaphor and simile should not be upheld.26 Contemporary metaphor theory would agree here that the presence of a word such as like in imagery is an aspect of superficial language grammar, and that metaphor and simile, while textually different, are functionally the same.27 Hence, in my discussion of metaphors used of deities in Sumerian literature, I will subsume both metaphor and simile under the term metaphorical language or “imagery,”28 assuming that they are functionally the same. Further, if we take the insights of modern metaphor theory seriously, we cannot regard the imagery in OldBabylonian narratives as mere ornamental embellishment without significance for the Mesopotamian religious world. In adherence to the metaphor theory of Paul Ricoeur, and in conjunction with all recent theories of the interaction type, metaphors are, as it were, planned category mistakes which produce emergent meaning not reducible to the sum of its parts, its input domains. Several factors interact in a tensional way in imagery, so that a similarity between normally distant, incompatible, semantic domains is established, but without subsuming the difference between them.29 Poetic imagery thus enables us to say things that could be said in no other way: it helps create new meaning. Figurative language is not a neutral or ornamental aspect of speech, for it suggests new categories of interpretation and models or hypothesises new entities, states of affairs and causal relations. This leads us to the problem of referentiality. It is characteristic of religious literature that it involves supernatural creatures such as gods and monsters in its use of figurative language. One of the special things about religious imagery is that the referent of the imagery, the thing described by the imagery, is constituted by that very imagery. There are no intersubjectively and ostensibly identifiable referents independently available.30 Moreover, those referents are such that they transgress ordinary semantic domains, if by nothing else then by the multiplicity of metaphors used of them. One of the special problems relating to religious imagery is that it posits or creates the existence of supernatural, non-factual entities that do not correspond to any standard 26 Feldt, “Divine-Referent.” 27 Soskice, Metaphor, p. 59–60; Soskice here distinguishes between different types of similes, some closer in functioning to metaphor than others. See also Ricoeur, The Rule, pp. 26–28, 86, 183–185, 197, 248. 28 Punter, Metaphor, pp. 1–25; Soskice, Metaphor, pp. 62–63. 29 Ricoeur, The Rule, pp. 66, 137–143, 235, 247–256. 30 Feldt, “Divine-Referent,” p. 189. For a detailed discussion of such discourse, see Soskice (Metaphor, pp. 94–96, 97–141) on models and metaphors in science and religion.

54

Laura Feldt

semantic domains. For these reasons, it is crucial to examine in detail not only how the imagery is constructed, but also to discuss the literary context, as well as the broader contexts of production and use of texts in premodern societies.

Hero Mythology and Poetic Imagery in Ninurta’s Exploits and Inana and Ebih The Old Babylonian Sumerian narrative compositions treated here were culturally authoritative and seminal in Mesopotamian culture.31 They are narratives which are the composite result of multiple writings, rewritings, and redactions in a refined literary culture.32 Sumerian literature speaks of a developed written culture; it was written by experts, academics, and religious specialists at a time when, in all likelihood, Sumerian was already dead or dying as a spoken language (Woods 2006).33 This means that these texts were put into writing by people whose primary language was most likely Akkadian. In the Old Babylonian period, Sumerian was regarded as the quintessence of culture and learning,34 and in this 31 Herman L.J. Vanstiphout, Epics of Sumerian Kings: The Matter of Aratta, (Leiden: Brill, 2003), pp. 1–22; Michalowski, “The Libraries of Babel: Text, Authority, and Tradition in Ancient Mesopotamia,” in: Cultural Repertoires: Structure, Function and Dynamics, ed. Gillis J. Dorleijn and Herman L. J. Vanstiphout (Leuven: Peeters, 2003), pp. 105–130). Some texts were more authoritative than others; here Inana and Ebih may be regarded as less seminal and authoritative than Lugale, which was highly significant culturally and which has a long history of transmission. For Lugale, we are speaking of a period of time stretching from the beginning of the second millennium bce to late in the first millennium (Jacobus van Dijk, Lugal ud me-lám-bi nir-g̃ál: le récit épique et didactique des travaux de Ninurta, du Déluge et de la Nouvelle Création, 2 vols. (Leiden: Brill, 1983); Stefano Seminara, La versione accadica del Lugale: La tecnica babilonese della traduzione dal sumerico e le sue ‘regole’ (Rome: Università degli Studi di Roma “La Sapienza,” Dipartimento di Studi Orientali, 2001). 32 Especially in Lugale, we have an assemblage of text types – mythology/ritual, text/ wisdom, song, poetry, lists, etc. – and in all likelihood put together from a diversity of sources. Furthermore, as for manuscripts, there is no “the text,” only copies of copies of copies. 33 Many but not all Assyriologists agree on the time of death of Sumerian as a spoken language. We do not have strong and unequivocal evidence for all of these texts in the Ur III period, so the fact that Sumerian was dead or dying in the Old Babylonian period is not evidence per se that the texts are earlier. 34 Niek Veldhuis, “Mesopotamian Canons,” in: Homer, the Bible, and Beyond: Literary and Religious Canons in the Ancient World, ed. Margalit Finkelberg and Guy G. Stroumsa (Leiden: Brill, 2003), pp. 9–28. So the literature does not present a unified

Moving Images in Old Babylonian Myths

55

religious–literary environment these stories were selected for cultural transmission and memory. I take the composite editions to speak of the Old Babylonian authors/redactors and recipients, not of any assumed Neo-Sumerian origin.35 I assume that the composition as a “collectivity […] invites interpretation”.36 I have selected the combat stories related to the deities Ninurta and Inana for analysis because they are similar in terms of genre, language, composition, and dating.37 The selected material consists of the texts known as Ninurta’s Exploits (Lugale)

view extending across centuries. “Sumerian” refers here to the language in which these compositions were written, not to an ethnic group. 35 Assyriological analyses often focus on the hypothesised origins of the stories in the Neo-Sumerian period, and while this is a necessary discussion, studying the texts from the perspective of their preservation across the centuries and their participation in the selected “canon” of Mesopotamian cultural memory is also a legitimate object of inquiry, along the lines of Mads R. Thomsen, Kanoniske konstellationer: om litteraturhistorie, kanonstudier og 1920ernes litteratur (Odense: University Press of Southern Denmark, 2003). 36 As cited in Leach, “Fishing for Men,” in: The Literary Guide to the Bible, ed. Robert Alter and Frank Kermode (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 1987), pp. 579–599, quote on p. 581; Ron Hendel, Remembering Abraham: Culture, Memory, and History in the Hebrew Bible. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), pp. 96–98; Gilhus, “Metodisk mangefold: utforskningen av en religiøs tekst,” in: Metode i religionsvitenskap, ed. Siv Ellen Kraft and Richard J. Natvig (Oslo: Pax, 2006), pp. 72–88. 37 I use the Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature composite versions (ETCSL; see Black et al., The Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature, 1998–2006. URL: http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk). For historians of religion, the composite, redacted text is very useful as source material for an understanding of the process of reception. Special problems apply to the combination of manuscripts in Assyriology; see Black et al., Electronic. Both texts will be analysed here on the basis of the ETCSL composite texts. This is not unproblematic, since each line has been constructed on the basis of all of the known sources, rather than on a single version, and there are frequent variants. This is a larger problem, which the study of Sumerian literature shares with other ancient literature, among others Hebrew – see Laura Feldt, The Fantastic in Religious Narrative from Exodus to Elisha (London: Routledge, 2012), pp. 66–69, 87, and Paul Delnero, “Inana and Ebih and the Scribal Tradition,” in: A Common Cultural Heritage: Studies on Mesopotamia and the Biblical World in Honor of Barry L. Eichler, ed. Grant Frame et al. (Bethesda Md.: CDL Press, 2011), pp. 123–149, for a detailed analysis and discussion of this aspect of Sumerian literature. See also David Carr, “Torah on the Heart: Literary Jewish Textuality within its Ancient Near Eastern Context,” Oral Tradition, Vol. 25, No. 1 (2010), pp. 17–40.

56

Laura Feldt

and Inana and Ebih.38 Ninurta’s Exploits, or, Lugale, a 728 lines long text,39 relates the story of how the god Ninurta battles a fearsome monster, Asag, and his stone warriors in the mountains; after his victory, Ninurta determines the destinies of his opponents and reorders the mountain regions.40 Then, he returns to the land to receive blessings and rewards. The myth Inana and Ebih (184 lines) concerns the deity Inana’s successful battle against the hostile and wild mountain range of Ebih. As previously shown, the narratives have the same basic structure, a common fabula.41 I suggest that the common fabula forms a basic structure of expectation for both narratives, and that this shared combat fabula may play a role when the abundant and complex imagery of the texts receive less attention by scholars. However, as a more detailed analysis will show, the poetic segments are very complex and image-rich, and bring out different aspects of the deities than the focus on narrative structure brings out. The texts’ fabulae concern a hero’s struggle against a monstrous opponent, and his/her final victory, thus seemingly affirming and maintaining the existing order and providing support for an ideology of the centre, opposing the good hero with the evil and monstrous opponent. Yet, as the analyses below show, the “story” and “text” layers of the narratives, with their extensive poetic segments, offer very different views that complicate this image.

The Poetic Introduction to Ninurta’s Exploits (Lugale) The story of Ninurta’s Exploits, or, Lugale is of a type quite common in narratology and myth theory; featuring the paradigmatic agents of hero and opponent

38 The texts are available in Sumerian transliteration and English translation at The Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature website; see Black et al., Electronic. 39 For elaborate discussions of text history, dating, provenance, etc., see Feldt “Monstrous Identities: Narrative Strategies in Lugale and Some Reflections on Sumerian Religious Narrative,” in: Narratives of Egypt and the Ancient Near East: Literary and Linguistic Approaches, ed. Fredrik Hagen et al. (Leuven: Peeters, 2011), pp. 123–164. 40 To “determine the destiny” of all things and beings was, in ancient Mesopotamia, the prerogative of the gods. It was an act of great significance, related to the creation and maintenance of order. Accordingly, here it means more than just assigning a punishment to defeated opponents: Ninurta’s determination of the destinies of Asag and the stone warriors entails establishing their (future) nature, function, and use. See Francesca Rochberg, “Fate and Divination in ancient Mesopotamia,” Archiv für Orientforschung Beiheft 19 (1982), pp. 363–371. 41 Laura Feldt, “Religion, Nature, and Ambiguous Space in Ancient Mesopotamia: the Mountain Wilderness in Old Babylonian Religious Narratives,” Numen – International Review of the History of Religions, Vol. 63, No. 4 (2016), pp. 347–382.

Moving Images in Old Babylonian Myths

57

monster engaged in a struggle, where the hero – whether divine or human – wins in the end. This motif is well known in the ancient world, in the Middle Ages, as well as today in action movies and fantasy fiction. For this reason, this text is often classified and understood as a hero myth or a combat myth, with all that these designations imply in terms of monologism, fixity of meaning, and authorisation of the divine or hero characters. In previous work, I have pointed out how striking it is, in Ninurta’s Exploits, that while the text is indeed structured on the basic narrative pattern of the hero myth, it uses a great variety of metaphors and other forms of imagery. The narrative flow is interrupted by elaborate metaphorical descriptions, and the poetic imagery seems to almost overwhelm the main narrative, even if we still manage to recognise a narrative sequence of events.42 The use of metaphorical language in Lugale thus raises questions about the construction of deities and other supernatural creatures, and the nature of “myth.” The elaborate and extensive use of imagery in the poetic introduction is my focus here. But first a few words to introduce the text.43 Ninurta’s Exploits is a 728 line long composition in elevated literary style. Two versions are known: a unilingual Sumerian version from the Old Babylonian period (the first half of the second millennium BCE, c. 2004–c. 1595) and a bilingual (Sumerian-Akkadian) version. The present study is based on the Old Babylonian unilingual Sumerian version only.44 No manuscripts of Lugale are earlier than the Old Babylonian period, yet it is frequently suggested that the narrative originated several centuries earlier. Wilcke dates Lugale to a little later than Gudea, ruler of the city of Lagaš (c. 2144–c. 2124), while Cooper argues against a redaction during Gudea’s time.45 Black believes Lugale to be a court poem of the Third Dynasty of Ur (2112–2004) or of the Isin Dynasty (2017–1794), adapted from earlier material that originated in Lagaš in “the ambience of the cult of Ninğirsu.”46 For my 42 Feldt, “Monstrous Identities.” 43 The following section on manuscripts and dating overlaps with my previous presentation of Lugale in Feldt, “Monstrous Identities.” 44 The Akkadian translation of the later bilingual version, which sometimes distorts or simplifies the Sumerian, is not used here. 45 Claus Wilcke, “Formale Gesichtspunkte in der sumerischen Literatur,” in: Sumerological Studies in Honor of Thorkild Jacobsen on his seventieth Birthday, June 7th, 1974 (Assyriological Studies 20), ed. Lieberman, S.J. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1976), pp. 205–316, see here p. 208. Jerrold Cooper The Return of Ninurta to Nippur: angim dím-ma. (Analecta Orientalia, 52. Roma: Ponteficio Istituto Biblico, 1978), p. 10. 46 Jeremy A. Black, “Some Structural Features of Sumerian Narrative Poetry,” in: Mesopotamian Epic Literature – Oral or Aural, ed. M. Vogelzang and H. Vanstiphout (LewistonQueenston-Lampeter: Edwin Mellen, 1992), p. 86.

58

Laura Feldt

purposes here, it is important to note that I wish to discuss this composition not as a text of the third millennium, but as a text of the early second millennium, as a product of Old Babylonian scribal schools, with all that this entails. In the hymnic introduction (l.1–16), we find a great amount of moving images, many imaginative and contrasting metaphors, used in divine characterisation, which I find are best interpreted as deliberate poetic-literary strategies. The style is accumulative, heaping up images of the deity in a series of moving metaphors; indeed the entire section can be understood as one long, uninterrupted, poetic characterization of the deity Ninurta. We move from a king metaphor combined with monstrous nature images in the first line (lugal ud me-lem4-bi nir-ĝal2 “oh king, storm of majestic splendour”), to anthropomorphic imagery stressing Ninurta’s superior strength in l.2 (nin-urta saĝ-kal usu maḫ tuku kur a-ga-na laḫ4), which moves in a direct flow on to picturing Ninurta in the image of a deluge and a monstrous serpent, who incessantly attacks the enemies (l.3):47 1.  lugal ud me-lem4-bi nir-jal2 O king, storm of majestic splendour, 2.  dnin-urta saj-kal usu mah tuku kur a-ga-na lah4 peerless Ninurta, possessing superior strength; who pillages the mountains all alone; 3.  a-ma-ru mir-DU nu-kuš2-u3 ki-bal ja2-ja2 deluge, indefatigable serpent hurling yourself at the rebel land,

Then follow four lines using anthropomorphic metaphors, primarily related to war and battle, but also mixing in images of farming and family, framing Ninurta as a valiant warrior and strong, well-approved of son of his divine father, who reaps the necks of the insubordinate (ll.4–7). The text now shifts to seeing the heroic deity in terms of a meteorological metaphor, that of the magnificent south storm, to which the deity’s awesomeness (ni2) is compared. Ninurta is full of that awesome fearsomeness which all Mesopotamian deities are ascribed (ni2). At the same time, the implication of the imagery is that the enemies are framed as “the mountains” (kur) covered by the south storm (l.8). This leads on to the image of Ninurta as someone who steers natural phenomena; he makes the tiara above, the rainbow(?), flash like lightning (l.9). But then, the text moves from the 47 In this article, the texts and translations are quoted from the ECTSL-edition, Black et al., Electronic (17 March 2016). One manuscript of Lugale cites this line before the first line: an lugal diĝir-re-e-ne-ke4 /nir-ĝal2\, but the line which is here no. 1 is cited in OB catalogue in the Louvre, see ETCSL composition no. 0.2.02, line 18; and the OB catalogue from Urim (U2), 0.2.04, line 41. See also van Dijk Lugal-ud.

Moving Images in Old Babylonian Myths

59

larger, cosmic and meteorological images by representing Ninurta as a monstrous serpent-dragon (muš), who keeps turning on himself (l.10), and then changes to images of a lion and then back to a hurricane, referencing the roaring sounds of thunder (l.11): 8. ur-saĝ ni2 ulu3-gin7 kur-ra dul-lu hero whose awesomeness covers the mountains like a south storm; 9. dnin-urta aga zid dŠE.TIR-an-na igi nim ĝir2 du7-du7 Ninurta, who makes the good tiara, the rainbow (?), flash like lightning; 10. sun4 nun-e a za-gin3 ru-a ušum ni2-ba gur-gur grandly begotten by him who wears the princely beard; dragon who turns on himself, 11. zag piriĝ-e muš-e-eš eme ed2-de3 gu3-an-ne2-si ka si-il-le strength of a lion snarling at a snake, roaring hurricane;

The final four lines predominantly use images gathered from the anthropomorphic domain (king, hero, son), but mix in images of Ninurta as a battle-net, as a gigantic awesome shadow protecting the land (kalam, the homeland), and of his fury (ll.12–16):48 12. dnin-urta lugal den-lil2-le ni2-te-na dirig-ga Ninurta, king, whom Enlil has exalted above himself; 13. ur-saj sašu2-uš-gal lu2-erim2-ra šu2-a hero, great battle-net flung over the foe; 14. dnin-urta ni2 jissu-zu kalam-ma la2-a Ninurta, with the awesomeness of your shadow extending over the Land; 15. sumur ki-bal-še3 tum3 unken-bi dul-dul releasing fury on the rebel lands, overwhelming their assemblies! 16. dnin-urta lugal dumu a-a-ni-ir su3-ud-bi-še3 giri17 šu jal2 Ninurta, king, son who has forced homage to his father far and wide!

While these four lines emphasise anthropomorphic metaphors, this long poetic characterization, or series of moving images, is difficult to split up into discrete metaphors in its entirety. Instead, we get a series of contrasting metaphors which move and blend into a larger, oscillating image. While some parts of the text do indeed seem to function in terms of the parallelismus membrorum, which has been seen as so characteristic of Ancient Near Eastern and Hebrew Bible poetry,49 this is not really an adequate term for this text. What we see here is a multitude of 48 I here quote the ECTSL-edition and translation, see Black et al. Electronic. 49 Tawny Holm, “Ancient Near Eastern Literature – Genres and Forms,” in: A Companion to the Ancient Near East, ed. D. Snell (London: Blackwells, 2007), pp. 269–288.

60

Laura Feldt

metaphors which shift shape in a long associative chain, not a series of parallelisms. To sum up, this text segment piles up images of the deity, in a combination of anthropomorphic imagery (warrior, king, son, farmer), “meteorologically” related imagery (deluge, south storm, rainbow, thunder, shadow (of cloud, storm), animal imagery (lion, snake), artefact imagery (battle net, mace), with more “monstrous” or religious imagery (types of monsters, the special epithet of awesomeness). While there is some emphasis on Ninurta’s warrior skills, several other aspects of his functions are mentioned too, and many unusual combinations are made. In the poetic introduction, the literary skill demonstrated is striking, as are the rare word combinations, the imaginative imagery, all put together in a form, which also has some repetitive qualities. This may give the impression of parallel images, but which, rather, move the metaphor associatively on towards ever-new images. What stands out is the demonstration of poetic and linguistic skill and creativity, in the blends of anthropomorphic, animal and nature images into a larger, shifting and dynamic moving image of the deity. As mentioned, the story of Lugale is of the common type of a hero’s battle against an opponent, a monstrous other, where the hero wins in the end. But what is exceptional and striking about Lugale in particular is the multiplicity of metaphors and other forms of imagery used to portray not only the hero Ninurta, but also the opponent, the monster Asag, not only in the introduction, but also throughout the myth.50 The semantic construction of the protagonists seems to be deliberately disorderly and ambiguous, to the extent that the multiplicity of imagery and polysemy threatens to overwhelm the main narrative, even if we still manage to discern a narrative sequence of events. It is not at all clear that the narrative sequence of events should be privileged in our understanding of the text, as reflected in designations such as “hero myth” or “mythic narrative.”

The Literary Context of the Imagery After the poetic introduction, Lugale’s narrative per se begins when Šarur (Ninurta’s weapon and helper/assistant) informs the deity, who is peacefully enthroned as a ruler, that a threat (the monster Asag) has arisen in the mountains. Šarur tells of the rival, divine warrior Asag (line 26), a warrior beyond control (lines 27, 59–64). Šarur’s entire speech (lines 24–69) is devoted to describing this creature, which he has observed while roaming in the mountains on his master’s behalf. This poetic description and the following ones paint a picture of a monstrous

50 Feldt, “Monstrous Identities.”

Moving Images in Old Babylonian Myths

61

being, via metaphors, and focuses the audience’s attention on it. Here, the same literary strategies as in the poetic introduction are used. Images are piled up, contradictory semantic domains activated and distorted, and monstrous images used to create “moving images” of the text’s protagonists; images which oscillate and change continuously.51 Poetic text segments describing Asag appear not only once, but several times (ll.24–69, 168–181, 265–280, 286–305, 325–330). As this indicates, the amount of poetic, image-rich description of the supernatural characters is quite remarkable. Lugale foregrounds the continuous oscillation in the imagery used in divine characterisation. A variety of metaphors are used purposefully to describe supernatural agents, and similarities drawn between hero and opponent which complicate some understandings of “myth” or religious narrative as authoritative stories. In literary theory, myth is understood as a site of what many students of narrative would, following the Russian literary critic Bakhtin, call monologic discourse; that is, presenting a single, seemingly uncontested voice from a single authoritative point of view. Bakhtin further asserted that myth lacked relativity, rendering the cultural and social order unavailable for questioning, and that it denied the possibility of intertextual exchange and intratextual dialogue.52 Such a characterization does not fit Lugale well, since it is, as shown here, open to multiple interpretations, intratextual dialogue, to contradictory textual voices, and so perhaps, the literary form opens issues that could lead to a questioning of the absolute status of the prevailing order. With regard to divine characterization, the text does not offer us solid images commanding absolute belief, but rather a variety of images and the impression of constant oscillation. The deities are quite difficult to grasp in terms of characterization. A narrative like Lugale is not straightforwardly authoritative or dogmatic: imagination and playfulness play important parts in it.

51 For instance, the use of UD (see Appendix) for Asag in lines 174, 267, 278(?), or presenting his face as “deformed” (line 55: igi sig3-sig3). The description of his birth as a union of An (“sky”) and Ki (“earth”) is also a known topos for the birth of monsters in Sumerian literature. Cf. Bendt Alster and Aa.Westenholz, “The Barton Cylinder,” Acta Sumerologica 16 (1994), pp. 15–46. 52 This refers to intratextual dialogue between different discourses or voices in a text; it does not refer the idea that “myths” do not report conversations between characters. The different discourses represented in a narrative speak in and from many, sometimes competing or oppositional, simultaneous contexts, and they can represent differing sets of values. See also J.T. Lionarons, “Beowulf: Myth and Monsters,” English Studies, Vol. 77, No. 1 (1996), pp. 1–14.

62

Laura Feldt

Finally, it is worth mentioning that in addition to the high level of poeticity in divine characterization in Ninurta’s Exploits, the composition includes an over 200 lines long list towards the end. The list resembles the genre of lexical lists, the primary Mesopotamian means of organising knowledge. The list relates a long series of different stones, which are given aetiological explanations related to the battle between Ninurta and Asag – the ones who fought on the side of Ninurta are regarded as beneficial, the others as maleficent, stones. The monstrous enemy Asag, his monstrous stone warriors, and the mountain wilderness are, in this list, all related to the hero Ninurta as well as to everyday life in the homeland (kalam). The agency of the stones and their religious meanings are emphasised. The list contains numerous puns and allusions to the Mesopotamian scholarly tradition.53 So not only is the composition characterised by a high level of poeticity, larger parts of it take the form of long embedded speeches by the characters, and it also incorporates a long list. This type of genre blending makes it difficult to characterise, but it also means that we must discuss the culture of production and reception of this “myth.” The poetic introduction and the long poetic segments in the “myth” are not foreign elements, which merely function as ornament for the narrative structure. The context of production and reception arguably lends itself most appropriately to a context of writing, not performance. This suggests that the primary social group who could produce and use such a text was its academic curators, redactors, and authors – the scribes. They were the only persons to whom this knowledge was accessible and who mastered it. This insight conflicts with one traditional understanding of “myth,” namely the connotations of gullibility and credulity of its users and recipients, and of its senders as authoritative religious leaders.

The Poetic Introduction to Inana and Ebih The composition Inana and Ebih54 is also interesting for an analysis of poeticity in Old-Babylonian narratives, and it makes for relevant comparative material.55

53 Laura Feldt, “Monstrøse sten og monstrøs mytologi,” Chaos – special issue Festskrift til Mikael Aktor, forthcoming. 54 For details of text history, source criticism, and previous interpretations, see Delnero, “Inana and Ebih.” 55 Analysis from the perspective of the “text” layer means attentiveness to issues related to the narrator, the non-narrative comments (descriptive and argumentative sections) or alternations between narrative text and non-narrative text, the levels of narration, etc., Bal, Narratology, pp. 16–75.

Moving Images in Old Babylonian Myths

63

The narrative is of the same basic hero vs. monster combat type as Ninurta’s Exploits,56 relating the goddess Inanna’s battle against the insubordinate mount Ebih. However, most of Inana and Ebih consists of dialogue: Ll.25–52; 65–111; 113–130; 153–181 out of a total of 184 lines, with many poetic segments.57 The composition is most often classified as “narrative” or “mythic,” even if the narrative sections are unusually and noticeably brief. The narrator plays a very little role in this text, as does the basic combat fabula, because the utterances of the divine protagonists are emphasised in the “text” to a great extent. The composition also has a poetic introduction, praising Inana (ll.1–24).58 Let us take a look at divine characterisation in the poetic introduction. The hymnic introduction is narrated in the first person and addressed to Inana in the second person (l.10, l.6–9). In several ways, while the poetic introduction to this text also brings us a series of moving images, it focuses more clearly on one specific aspect of the goddess, by representing her as a great warrior and powerful destroyer.59 Her fearsome and great divine powers,60 and her terror, standard metaphors for the awesomeness of divine might, are stressed in an initial image picturing her as riding those powers, as made perfect by her weapon, and going out drenched in its blood, as taking part in great battles (ll.1–3).61 Yet, the text then shifts to weather imagery and rhetoric, with images of Inana as clad in, or decorated with, being expressed in, a storm and a tempest or a flood (l.4),62 and then shifting back to Inana as the master of conflicts and wars in anthropomorphic hunting images (l.5–6). The next sentences add gigantism to Inana’s representation, as well as a series of theriomorphic metaphors. Everywhere, in heaven and on earth, Inana 56 Fumi Karahashi “Fighting the Mountain: Some Observations on the Sumerian Myths of Inanna and Ninurta,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies, Vol. 63, No. 2 (2004), pp. 111–118. 57 Cf. Bal, Narratology, pp. 16–77. 58 Delnero regards ll.1–19 as the poetic introduction; this is partly due to a different line count, see Delnero, “Inana and Ebih,” p. 128. My references are to the ETCSL-edition. 59 Delnero, “Inana and Ebih,” p. 134. 60 The exact meanings of the words used here (me, ni2) are contested and difficult to translate. me is traditionally translated “göttliche Kräfte,” “divine ordinances,” “fonctions divines,” and this is one of the most important concepts of Sumerian culture and religion; ni2 is related as an aweinspiring, supernatural force or power. 61 Several of these images resemble images used in Inana hymns like Inana Hymn C and other Inana compositions like The Exaltation of Inana (Delnero, “Inana and Ebih,” pp. 134–135). 62 Vestimentary images used to speak, at least partly, of divine functions are well known in the ancient Near East, also in the Hebrew Bible (e.g., Psalm 104).

64

Laura Feldt

roars like a lion, devastating people; she is like a huge wild bull in her aggression against those who rebel, and a fearsome lion,63 who “extinguishes” the unsubmissive, here seemingly connecting the images of the storm flood with the warrior and animal images (ll.7–9):64 1.  in-nin me ḫuš-a ni2 gur3-ru me gal-la u5-a Goddess of the fearsome divine powers, clad in terror, riding on the great divine powers, 2.  dinana a2-an-kar2 kug šu du7 mud-bi gu2 e3 Inana, made perfect by the holy a-an-kar weapon, drenched in blood, 3. me3 gal-gal-la ḫub2 dar ak kušgur21ur3-bi ki us2-sa rushing around in great battles, with shield resting on the ground (?), 4.  ud mar-uru5-a šu tag dug4-ga covered in storm and flood, 5.  nin gal dinana šen-šen-na sa2 sig10-sig10-ge5 gal-zu great lady Inana, knowing well how to plan conflicts, 6.  kur gul-gul ti a2-ta i-ni-in-ug7 kur-re a2 ba-e-šum2 great lady Inana, knowing well how to plan conflicts, you destroy mighty lands with arrow and strength and overpower lands. 7. piriĝ-gin7 an ki-a šeg11 i-ni-in-gi4 uĝ3-e su i3-ni-in-sag3 In heaven and on earth you roar like a lion and devastate the people. 8.  am gal-gin7 kur gu2-erim2-ĝal2-la u3-na ba-gub-be2-en Like a huge wild bull you triumph over lands which are hostile. 9. piriĝ ḫuš-gin7 uru16-na nu-še-ga ze2-za bi2-ib2-te-en-te-en Like a fearsome lion you pacify the insubordinate and unsubmissive with your gall.

In l.10, the text starts using 1st person pronouns, addressing Inana directly (ninĝu10 my lady), and emphasizes her flourishing aspects – indicating that she is not yet fully grown, a young woman, who will acquire greatness like the earth (l.10–11). In the following lines, Inana’s great size as an astral phenomenon of light is underlined, she is compared to the sun god Utu, but the light image is combined with an anthropomorphic image, according to which she walks in heaven wearing fearsome terror (ni2 ḫuš) (ll.12–13). This imagery, and the personal address to

63 The word ḫuš signifies a specific fearsome reddish colour, with connotations of anger, and is often used with supernatural monsters (cf. The Electronic Pennsylvania Sumerian Dictionary, ed. S. Tinney et al., s.v.) 64 The first line of Inana and Ebih is cited in the OB catalogue from Nibru, at Philadelphia, 0.2.01, line 8; OB catalogue in the Louvre, 0.2.02, line 8; OB catalogue from Urim (U1), 0.2.03, line 10; OB catalogue from Urim (U2), 0.2.04, line 13; OB catalogue at Andrews University, 0.2.11, line 2.

Moving Images in Old Babylonian Myths

65

Inana as “you,” continues in the next lines, in which Inana is pictured as wearing daylight and brilliance on earth, as walking in the mountain ranges bringing forth what is often translated as “shining rays,” but which literally means “lapis-lazuli sinews” (ll.14–15), which may refer to her astral body – as well as perhaps to her temple statue, which often lavishly decorated. The imagery then moves towards vegetation metaphors, when Inana is described as bathing the mountain flowers, as giving birth to the bright mountain, the holy place (l.16–17). Line 18 is difficult to read, but offers images of lapis lazuli and of Inana taking a seat, perhaps on the mountain. The following lines emphasize warrior and lord images and stress Inana’s popularity among the black-headed people (the Sumerians) and all the lands (ll.19–22). Finally, Inana is called the lady of battle, the child of the moon-god Suen, and a young woman (ll.23–24).65 Here too we have a text segment, which seems to constitute one, long poetic characterization of Inana, which is difficult to split up into discrete metaphors. The many different images continually flow into each other and draw upon each other. While several images stress Inana’s superior warrior aspects and her strength, the text does use a great variety of imagery from images related to light and the weather to animals, making the representation of the goddess quite difficult to pin down.

The Literary Context In Inana and Ebih,66 the text layer is particularly interesting for an analysis of the characterisation of deities.67 The text builds on the monster combat fabula, and this would support a reading of the imagery in terms of Inana’s hero and warrior

65 Some have suggested that Inana’s path as described in Inana and Ebih, and very similarly in Inana and Šukaletuda ll.113–114, may allude to Inana’s movement as the planet Venus through the heavens (Konrad Volk, Inana und Šukaletuda. Zur historischpolitischen Deutung eines sumerischen Literaturwerkes (Wiesbaden: Harrasowitz, 1995), p. 31; Jerrold Cooper, “Literature and History: The Historical and Political Referents of Sumerian Literary Texts,” in: Historiography in the Cuneiform World. Proceedings of the XLV Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, ed. T. Abusch et al. (Bethesda MD: CDL Press, 2001), p. 143. 66 Detailed discussions of text history, source criticism, and previous interpretations, can be found in Delnero, “Inana and Ebih.” 67 Analysis from the perspective of the “text” layer means attentiveness to issues related to the narrator, the non-narrative comments (descriptive and argumentative sections) or alternations between narrative text and non-narrative text, the levels of narration, etc. (Bal, Narratology, pp. 16–75).

66

Laura Feldt

qualities. But interestingly, most of Inana and Ebih consists of dialogue: ll.25–52; 65–111; 113–130; 153–181 out of a total of 184 lines,68 and the narrative sections are unusually and noticeably brief. The narrator plays a very little role in this text, as does the basic combat fabula, because the utterances of the divine protagonists are emphasized in the “text” to a great extent. These utterances are, just like the poetic introduction, full of imagery. Inana’s opponent, the mountain, is described in the dialogue between the deities Inana and An.69 While Mount Ebih is clearly the opponent according to a fabula analysis, it is interesting to see that, in the text layer, the mountain is characterised as inaccessible, rebellious, and insubordinate, on the one hand, and, on the other, as beautiful and naturally abundant. Inana describes it as insubordinate and rebellious (ll.33–36), inaccessible and with thick forests (ll.45–48; 104–107), it is like a snake (ll.83–84), without fear (ll.89–95), and it is magnificent (ll.96–99), beautiful, elevated, attractive, and holy (ll.152–159). Inana wishes to destroy it because of its insubordination (ll.46, 105). She likens her conquest of the mountain to the capture of an elephant and a wild bull, stressing the mountain’s sadness because of what she has done (ll.160–165).70 The deity An’s utterances are also full of poetic images, presenting the mountain wilderness with great ambiguity: it is full of fearsome terror that overflows into the abodes of the deities; it is arrogant (ll.116–120; 127–130); it has abundant fruit gardens, luxuriance, magnificent trees, and bright branches; and, it is wondrous to look at, with many lions, wild rams and stags, wild bulls, and deer that mate under the cypress trees (ll.121–126).71 While the mountain wilderness occupies the narratological slot of opponent, and it is overcome by Inana in the end, in the “text” layer the image is much more complex in terms of imagery. Inana is represented as an anthropomorphic agent, but also as different animals, as meteorological phenomena, as light, as a gigantic heavenly body, etc. The diverse imagery is also found in other passages, such as the vivid, appreciative descriptions of the natural abundance of the mountains, with aspects that communicate a sense of positive valuation, fascination, and loss with regard to the “opponent.”72 Images of abundance and wildness are placed up against a description of Inana’s brutal victory and subordination of the mountains. It seems that the fair conclusion is that the representations of the hero goddess 68 Cf. Bal, Narratology, pp. 16–77. 69 Of course these descriptions participate in the construction of Mount Ebih as a character in the story layer. 70 Feldt, “Religion, Nature.” 71 Feldt, “Religion, Nature.” 72 Feldt, “Religion, Nature.”

Moving Images in Old Babylonian Myths

67

Inana, as well as of her opponent, Ebih, are poetic, shifting, and ambiguous. We are offered oscillating images, ambiguous poetry, which – rather than offering the clear and monologic discourse of “myth” – seems to stress fascination and the evocation of otherness, whether a divine otherness or in the form of a natural wilderness.

Poetry, Narrative, and Old Babylonian Sumerian Literature The prominent use of “moving images” of the deities and other supernatural characters, with which this article is concerned, offer means to transgress and expand semantic domains and category boundaries. The moving images and novel combinations of imagery generate no certainty with regard to the identities of the absent referents: the deities and other divine actors. Rather, these moving, continuously oscillating images create uncertainty and multiply ambiguity with regard to the divine referents. Their most salient trait may indeed be their shifting and dynamic character; their category-transgressive “monstrous” identities. The text’s polysemy and high level of poeticity rule out straightforward allegorical readings of these “moving images.” Certainly, the many mixed images cannot be explained as a result of a “licentia poetica” of “the Sumerian poets,”73 attempts at understanding and explanation beyond that must be attempted. The moving images used to characterise monstrous and category-transgressive divine characters in Lugale and Inana and Ebih call for discussion. How do we assess the imagery of the text vis-à-vis the narrative elements and the narrative structure, and which implications does the texts’ form have for our understanding of the deities in Mesopotamian society? The images do not justify an allegorical reading of the composition. What they represent or signify is not straightforwardly reducible to a one-to-one correspondence with specific political, economic, meteorological, or other phenomena. Their identities are represented as unstable, and uncertainty, as well as fear, in relation to the deities are emphasised. In some ways, the long poetic sections may be said to heighten narrative suspense and ambiguity, for instance, by raising the doubt – repeatedly voiced by Šarur (lines 43–44, 57, 59, 64, 265–266, 271, 280) – of whether Ninurta can indeed overcome his opponent, or by writing forms of ambiguity into the characterisation of mount Ebih. The similarities in character construction between 73 Thorkild Jacobsen, “The Asakku in Lugal-e,” in: A Scientific Humanist: Studies in Memory of Abraham Sachs, ed. E. Leichty et al. (University Museum, Philadelphia: Occasional Publications of the Samuel Noah Kramer Fund 9, 1988), pp. 225–232; see here p. 230.

68

Laura Feldt

Ninurta and Asag also highlight that there is considerable ambiguity involved in the characterisation of deities.74 What constitutes a “deity” other than the characterisations and interactions, the human discourse – language and practices – which keep him or her alive? In Sumerian religious narrative, deities are usually imagined as anthropomorphic beings, to a great extent. Yet, as we have seen here, the sheer variety of conflicting metaphors, the sheer “moving” in the “moving images” may be decisive too. Gods and monsters cannot be described simply, both because the referents are missing, but also because in order to be spoken and acquire some measure of “social life,” supernatural referents need the fascination and mystery stemming from poetic opacity. The problem of how to understand the many metaphors in these compositions is also connected to how we understand the difficult issue of religious belief in the ancient world. Did ancient audiences actually believe that Ninurta and Inana as described in these texts existed? (And how can we find out?) Which poetic images should we privilege, if any? Some recipients may have believed all of the descriptions, while others may have focused on the differences between the various images. Others still might have imagined Ninurta and Inana as primarily anthropomorphic entities, with additional attributes, and attributed special significance to the anthropomorphic imagery, while perhaps seeing the imagery drawn from other semantic domains (animal and meteorological, for instance) as describing lesser aspects of their identity. In sum, it seems that the multiplicity of images and the “monstrosity” of the deities are among their most decisive traits. And the formulation of “beliefs” and “dogma” was never key in religion in Mesopotamia. The metaphorical language used in Lugale, Inana and Ebih (and other Sumerian narratives) is compatible with several different attitudes towards the relationship between “metaphor” and “referent.”75 What and how the ancient audiences believed about the identity and nature of Asag, Ninurta, Inana and Ebih, and how their views might have differed, we cannot know. The opinions of the ancients were, no doubt, as varied as our own, and these texts are, as any other written 74 Through the ample use of extended moving images, in divine characterisation, the narratives communicate the awareness that other constructions and distinctions are possible. The hero’s battle against and victory over the monstrous opponent is a means of affirming the existing order, but the many metaphors and contrasting imagery at the same time reveals this order to be fragile and contingent. This analysis thus lends further support to Cooper’s arguments against the idea that these myths are political allegories. Cooper, “Literature and History”; Delnero, “Inana and Ebih,” pp. 137–138. 75 Feldt, “Monstrous Identities.”

Moving Images in Old Babylonian Myths

69

narrative, open to multiple interpretations and uses. Therefore, we cannot rule out that they might have been used or understood in a monologic way at one time or another; but the fact that they explicitly privilege the multiplicity of imagery over semantic consistency in their descriptions nonetheless encourage the supposition that the intention was to construct monstrous identities and to use ambivalence purposefully. I also suggest that poetic opacity, ambiguity, and polysemy had a place in the religious worldview of the intended recipients. Moreover, these traits often aid the continued transmission and re-use of religious literature, because they allow for re-interpretations in many, varied historical circumstances.76

Literature and Religion: The Cultures of Production and Usage of the Texts What we know of the culture of transmission and the usage of these texts show us that their primary culture of transmission and reception was the Old Babylonian scribal school. This means that the culture of use in which they were embedded was one of copying and memorization, but not reading per se. Their institutional usage was one of writing and memorization, of scribal training. These two texts have links to many other text types, which are also educational, and they embed text types which – from the point of view of the context of use – are didactic, for instance the stone list in Ninurta’s Exploits/Lugale: these texts may be as close to mathematical tablets and lexical lists as to a magical text or a ritual lament, and so they unsettle some standard ideas of “religion.” These samples of Old Babylonian Sumerian literature were most likely used in the advanced curriculum of the scribal school, even if we cannot establish exactly what the curriculum consisted of.77 But we do know a little about the processes involved. By copying numerous compositions, pupils learned how to read and write Sumerian. Scribal pupils were educated to take up a position in the administration, and their education included much more than what they strictly needed for producing bureaucratic texts. As Veldhuis, Delnero, and others have suggested, education at this level was about more than merely learning to write – it was about gaining access to the elite of society. It is likely that their curriculum, quite apart from the technical skills of the scribal profession, offered the cultural capital needed for admission to the elite. This cultural capital may be described as mastery of the Sumerian language and partaking in defining and creating a

76 Feldt, “Monstrous Identities.” 77 Delnero, “Inana and Ebih.”

70

Laura Feldt

Sumerian identity and history through literature.78 So this is what literary means here – belonging to the scribal schools, literary means academic, it means well educated, it means being part of a cultural elite. This religious “literature,” these “myths,” was at home in the scribal schools where it formed a poetic counterpart to other types of learning, like, for instance, lexical lists, mathematics, or grammar. This learning not only included the technical aspects of knowing how to read and write cuneiform and Sumerian, but in its own way also transmitted the idea of a Sumerian history and heritage, as suggested by Veldhuis.79 This heritage, found in stories and songs, but also embodied in the Sumerian language itself, motivated an interest in ancient and obscure words. This interest is reflected in the lexical corpus, but also in compositions like Ninurta’s Exploits and Inana and Ebih, where unfamiliar vocabulary is used and lists embedded as a part of long complex compositions. In the case of Old Babylonian, Sumerian compositions, the literary and the religious can thus not be separated, or put in clear opposition to each other. The literature of the scribal schools is a context of its own, but one in which a particular type of religious discourse takes place. A more speculative discourse, a discourse less concerned with politics or ritual, and yet religious.80 This knowledge about the contexts of production and consumption of these religious compositions should be taken more seriously, when we discuss these texts as forms of ancient myth and as key to our understanding of certain aspects of religion in Mesopotamia, and of the Sumerian deities. The primary use of this literature in the OB period was for educational purposes, not for “religious” use or for public use. Writing was not a leisurely activity; at the scribal school, texts were learned by heart, so that the written copy did no need to be read. The stories that may have come closest to the way modern readers consume and value literature were traditional narratives that were told or recited rather than read – and they are lost to us. The actor, then, with whom we are dealing here, is the scholar. In Old Babylonian society, the scholar was the teacher of the scribal school. He (very rarely she) studied the texts that the tradition had handed down, he probably authored or at least redacted new texts (suitable for the court, for the school, or for both), and he assigned exercises with literary extracts to his pupils. He thus was a central figure in the production, reception, and hermeneutics of what we would now call literature, but also “myth.” This Old 78 Niek Veldhuis, Religion, Literature, and Scholarship: The Sumerian Composition Nanše and the Birds. With a Catalogue of Sumerian Bird Names. Cuneiform Monographs 22 (Leiden: Brill, 2004); Delnero, “Inana and Ebih.” 79 Veldhuis, Religion, Literature. 80 Veldhuis, Religion, Literature, p. 38.

Moving Images in Old Babylonian Myths

71

Babylonian scholar/teacher was not merely acting on his own accord; he, too, was part of a larger web of actors. So, the poetic narrative literature which we have in Ninurta’s Exploits and Inana and Ebih has a speculative or scholarly aspect to it, which needs recognition. As we have seen here, the texts embed complex speculations about the relations between the deities of the land, of Sumer, kalam, and the outside regions, the margins, the other, as well as ambiguous characterisations of the deities praised here, as well as of their opponents. These more complex poetic speculations may never have entered “popular religion” or common religious awareness, but that does not invalidate their religious relevance within their own academic context. Again, as Veldhuis points out with regard to another Sumerian text, “high literature and religion should not be put in opposition to each other; we cannot dismiss this evidence for religion in Mesopotamia as ‘merely literary’.”81 While it is a specific kind of religious discourse, a discourse which may be more speculative, perhaps less directly concerned with or related to ritual, than what we find in other types of sources we deem religious, it is relevant for understanding interactions between religion and literature. The analyses presented here thus agree with the key ideas presented by Veldhuis, but do not accord as well with his idea that Sumerian literature from this period serves to indoctrinate a small circle of elite learners, who were being trained as bureaucrats, in their common history and culture, assuming that learning about the deities created a sense of a coherent tradition.82 Rather, I would make a very related, but slightly different point that these texts – and similar Sumerian literature – would rather function to boost the scribal ésprit de corps and scribal identity as a knowledgeable elite by emphasising reflection, creative combinations, and multiple perspectives in religious matters, rather than supporting gullibility and just-so knowledge. The fact that the texts explicitly privilege the multiplicity of imagery over semantic consistency in their literary descriptions encourages the supposition that the intention was to construct evocative, thought provoking imagery and compositions that were not translatable into one fixed meaning – that the intention was to use complexity and ambiguity purposefully in their characterisations of the gods. Ambivalence, reflexivity, contingency, and indeterminacy may indeed perform important functions in “religion.”

81 Veldhuis, Religion, Literature, p. 38. 82 Veldhuis, Religion, Literature, pp. 66–80.

72

Laura Feldt

Conclusion In the Old-Babylonian texts analysed here, we have seen a variety of metaphors used purposefully to describe supernatural agents in surprising and conflicting ways. Many metaphors are animal and nature-related, and many segments of the texts traditionally classified as myths are what we must call “poetic.” Not only are poetic elements present in the narrative texts: they even seem to be emphasised and at times they even overwhelm the narrative structure. The literary form of these texts certainly points to, emphasises, the poeticity – the complexity of imagery and its ambiguity – of the characterisations of the deities over the basic communication of the narrative structure. Further, we cannot say that these compositions present authoritative points of view in a religious-dogmatic sense. They play with their narrative structure and any straightforward and uncontested single authoritative point of view – as myths are sometimes understood to enforce – is not there to be found. This raises the question of how we understand these texts as sources for the history of religions. Traditionally, the category of myth has not been understood in terms of literature, with all the characteristics of poeticity and fictionality that this involves. The compositions included in this study emphasize their authority not in terms of any doctrinal content or by presenting one authoritative point of view, but primarily by means of skill – by means of their demonstration of the mastery of tradition, by means of intertextual references, the use of rare vocabulary, imaginative, contradictory, and playful imagery. The textual practices used here bear witness to this multivocality, the multiple possibilities of interpretation, with regard to the deities Ninurta and Inana and the opponents they defeat, while retaining a primary focus on the importance of the aesthetics of transmission itself. If this literature was indeed primarily a literature of writing, embedded in a written culture of transmission and study, this means is that we can read these compositions only hesitantly as “myths”; we cannot assume that we know in advance what their function is about. They certainly show that we must take literary form more seriously in the study of religion; we must pay more attention to myths as media.

Bibliography Assmann, J. Das kulturelle Gedächtnis: Schrift, Erinnerung und politische Identität in frühen Hochkulturen. Munich: Verlag C.H. Beck, 1992. Alster, B. and Westenholz, Aa. “The Barton Cylinder.” Acta Sumerologica, Vol. 16, 1994, pp. 15–46.

Moving Images in Old Babylonian Myths

73

Attinger, Pascal. Eléments de linguistique sumérienne. La construction de du11/e/di “dire” (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis, Sonderband). Fribourg: Editions Universitaires/Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993. Bal, Mieke. Narratology: Introduction to the Theory of Narrative. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997. Black, Jeremy A., Graham Cunningham, Jarle Ebeling, Esther Flückiger-Hawker, Eleanor Robson, Jon Taylor, and Gábor Zólyomi. The Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature, 1998–2006. URL: http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/ (accessed 10 January 2016). Brettler, Mark. God is King. Understanding an Israelite Metaphor. Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1989. Brown, Peter. The Rise of Western Christendom. Oxford: Blackwell, 2003. Carr, David. “Torah on the Heart: Literary Jewish Textuality within its Ancient Near Eastern Context.” Oral Tradition, Vol. 25, No. 1, 2010, pp. 17–40. Cooper, Jerrold. The Return of Ninurta to Nippur: angim dím-ma. Analecta Orientalia, Vol. 52. Roma: Ponteficio Istituto Biblico, 1978. Cooper, J.S. “Literature and History: The Historical and Political Referents of Sumerian Literary Texts.” In: Historiography in the Cuneiform World. Proceedings of the XLV Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, ed. T. Abusch et al. Bethesda MD: CDL Press, 2001, pp. 131–147. Delnero, P. “Inana and Ebih and the Scribal Tradition.” In: A Common Cultural Heritage: Studies on Mesopotamia and the Biblical World in Honor of Barry L. Eichler, ed. Grant Frame et al. Bethesda Md.: CDL Press, 2011, pp. 123–149. Eidevall, Göran. Grapes in the Desert. Models, Metaphors and Themes in Hosea 4–14. Coniectanea Biblica. Old Testament Series, Vol. 43. Stockholm: Almqvist and Wiksell, 1996. Feldt, Laura. “Monstrøse sten og monstrøs mytologi.” Forthcoming in Chaos – special issue Festskrift til Mikael Aktor. Copenhagen: Forlaget Chaos. Feldt, Laura. “Religion, Nature, and Ambiguous Space in Ancient Mesopotamia: the Mountain Wilderness in Old Babylonian Religious Narratives.” Numen – International Review of the History of Religions, Vol. 63, No. 4, 2016, pp. 347–382. Feldt, Laura. “Myths and Narratology: Narrative Form, Meaning and Function in the Standard Babylonian Epic of Anzû.” Bulletin for the Study of Religion, Vol. 42, No. 4, 2013, pp. 22–29. Feldt, Laura. The Fantastic in Religious Narrative from Exodus to Elisha. London: Routledge, 2012.

74

Laura Feldt

Feldt, Laura. “Monstrous Identities: Narrative Strategies in Lugale and Some Reflections on Sumerian Religious Narrative.” In: Narratives of Egypt and the Ancient Near East: Literary and Linguistic Approaches, ed. Fredrik Hagen et al. Leuven: Peeters, 2011, pp. 123–164. Feldt, Laura. “On Divine-referent Bull Metaphors in the ETCSL Corpus.” In: Reading Literary Sumerian: Corpus-based Approaches, ed. Jarle Ebeling. London: Equinox Publishing, 2007, pp. 184–214. Feldt, Laura. “Reading the Monstrous: An Example of Sumerian Heroic Literature.” In: Readings in Eastern Mediterranean Literatures, ed. Kerstin Eksell and Laura Feldt. Würzburg: Ergon Verlag, 2006, pp. 83–127. Fludernik, Monika. Towards a Natural Narratology. London: Routledge, 1996. Geertz, Armin W. and Jeppe S. Jensen, eds. Religious Narrative, Cognition and Culture. London: Equinox, 2011. Gilhus, Ingvild S. “Metodisk mangefold: utforskningen av en religiøs tekst.” In: Metode i religionsvitenskap, ed. Siv Ellen Kraft and Richard J. Natvig. Oslo: Pax, 2006, pp. 72–88. Hendel, Ronald. Remembering Abraham: Culture, Memory, and History in the Hebrew Bible. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005. Holm, Tawny. “Ancient Near Eastern Literature – Genres and Forms.” In: A Companion to the Ancient Near East, ed. D. Snell. London: Blackwells, 2007, pp. 269–288. Hühn, Peter, ed. Handbook of Narratology. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2009. Jensen, Jeppe S. Myths and Mythologies: A Reader. Critical Categories in the Study of Religion. London: Equinox, 2009. Karahashi, Fumi. “Fighting the Mountain: Some Observations on the Sumerian Myths of Inanna and Ninurta.” Journal of Near Eastern Studies, Vol. 63, No. 2, 2004, pp. 111–118. Leach, Edmund. “Fishing for Men.” In: The Literary Guide to the Bible, ed. Robert Alter and Frank Kermode. Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 1987, pp. 579–599. Lionarons, J.T. “Beowulf: Myth and Monsters.” English Studies, Vol. 77, No. 1, 1996, pp. 1–14. McCutcheon, R.T. “Myth.” In: Guide to the Study of Religion, ed. W. Braun, W. and R.T. McCutcheon. London and New York: Cassell, 2000, 190–208. Meyer, Birgit. “Mediation and Immediacy. Sensational Forms, Semiotic Ideologies and the Question of the Medium.” Social Anthropology, Vol. 19, No. 1, 2011, pp. 23–39. (Special issue What is the Medium? ed. Patrick Eisenlohr.).

Moving Images in Old Babylonian Myths

75

Meyer, Birgit. “Religious Sensations. Why Media, Aesthetics and Power Matter in the Study of Contemporary Religion.” In: Religion. Beyond a Concept, ed. Hent de Vries. New York: Fordham University Press, 2008, pp. 704–723. Michalowski, Piotr. “The Libraries of Babel: Text, Authority, and Tradition in Ancient Mesopotamia.” In: Cultural Repertoires: Structure, Function and Dynamics, ed. Gillis J. Dorleijn and Herman L. J. Vanstiphout. Leuven: Peeters, 2003, pp. 105–130. Morgan, David. The Embodied Eye. Religious Visual Culture and the Social Life of Feeling. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012. Morgan, David. “Materiality, Social Analysis, and the Study of Religions.” In: Religion and Material Culture: The Matter of Belief, ed. D. Morgan. London: Routledge, 2010, pp. 55–74. Nünning, Ansgar and Vera Nünning, eds. Neue Ansätze in der Erzähltheorie. WVT Handbücher zum Literaturwissenschaftlichen Studium, Vol. 4. Trier: Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier, 2003. Nünning, Ansgar and Vera Nünning, eds. Erzähltheorie transgenerisch, intermedial, interdisciplinär. WVT Handbücher zum Literaturwissenschaftlichen Studium, Vol. 5. Trier: Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier, 2003. Olson, Greta. Current Trends in Narratology. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2011. Punter, David. Metaphor. The New Critical Idiom. London: Routledge, 2007. Rochberg, Francesca. “Fate and Divination in ancient Mesopotamia.” Archiv für Orientforschung Beiheft, Vol. 19, 1982, pp. 363–371. Ricoeur, Paul. The Rule of Metaphor. Multi-disciplinary Studies of the Creation of Meaning in Language. London: Routledge, 1977. Ryan, Marie-Laure. Narratives Across Media. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2004. Segal, Robert A. Myth: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004. Seminara, Stefano. La versione accadica del Lugale: La tecnica babilonese della traduzione dal sumerico e le sue ‘regole.’ Rome: Università degli Studi di Roma “La Sapienza,” Dipartimento di Studi Orientali, 2001. Soskice, Janet M. Metaphor and Religious Language. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985. Thomsen, Mads R. Kanoniske konstellationer: om litteraturhistorie, kanonstudier og 1920ernes litteratur. Odense: University Press of Southern Denmark, 2003. van Dijk, Jan. Lugal ud me-lám-bi nir-g̃ál: le récit épique et didactique des travaux de Ninurta, du Déluge et de la Nouvelle Création. 2 vols. Leiden: Brill, 1983.

76

Laura Feldt

Vanstiphout, Herman L. J. Epics of Sumerian Kings: The Matter of Aratta. Brill: Leiden, 2003. Veldhuis, Niek. “Mesopotamian Canons.” In: Homer, the Bible, and Beyond: Literary and Religious Canons in the Ancient World, ed. Margalit Finkelberg and Guy G. Stroumsa. Leiden: Brill, 2003, pp. 9–28. Veldhuis, Niek. Religion, Literature, and Scholarship: The Sumerian Composition Nanše and the Birds. With a Catalogue of Sumerian Bird Names. Cuneiform Monographs, Vol. 22. Leiden: Brill Publications, 2004. Volk, Konrad. Inana und Šukaletuda. Zur historisch-politischen Deutung eines sumerischen Literaturwerkes. Wiesbaden: Harrasowitz, 1995. Wanner, Kevin J. “Cunning Intelligence in Norse Myth.” History of Religions, Vol. 48, No. 3, 2009, pp. 211–46. Wilcke, C. “Formale Gesichtspunkte in der sumerischen Literatur.” In: Sumerological Studies in Honor of Thorkild Jacobsen on his seventieth Birthday, June 7th, 1974. Assyriological Studies, Vol. 20, ed. S.J. Lieberman. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1976, pp. 205–316. Woods, Christopher. “Bilingualism, Scribal Learning, and the Death of Sumerian.” In: Margins of Writing, Origins of Cultures, ed. Seth L. Sanders. Chicago: Oriental Institute, 2006, pp. 95–124.

Claudia Zichi

Poetic References in Plato’s Laws: The Preamble on Marriage (721b6-c6 and 772e7-774a2) Abstract: In this article we will discuss Plato’s attitude toward poetry in the Laws. More specifically we will analyse the preamble to the law of marriage and we will argue that, in order to persuade the citizens, the Athenian employs notions and ideas that were loci communes among poets. The hypothesis is that Plato, in the preambles to the individual laws, adapts poetic terms and expressions to convey his own new set of ideas.

Introduction and Premise Plato’s view on poetry is a widely discussed object of study among scholars and the Laws, with all probability Plato’s last dialogue, seems to give an important contribution in this discussion. Before we look more specifically into Plato’s claims on poetry in the dialogue, it might be useful to first mention here the main problems related to Plato’s criticism of the poets. In the fifth century BC Athens, the poets were regarded as truth-tellers. They were teachers and the highest authority in the field of moral behaviour. Plato challenged this view. Considered this, the questions that Plato’s scholars mainly attempt to solve, when it comes to Plato’s view of poetry, is: What sort of truth did Plato attribute to poetry, and what is its relation to philosophy? Did Plato really intend to exclude the poets from his polity? Scholars are puzzled by the apparent inconsistency in Plato’s writings and by the disagreement about poetry and its role we find in book III and X of Republic. Plato’s discussion of imitation in book X of the Republic has often been called self-contradictory, or at least inconsistent with the treatment of mimesis in Republic III. It is argued for example that, while in book III of Republic Plato banishes only some kinds of imitative poetry, in book X of the Republic he excludes from the ideal state all kinds of poetry (X 595a), although he still allows some forms of imitation, namely hymns and encomia at X 607a.1 1 See especially Carleton L. Brownson, Plato’s Studies and Criticism of the Poets (Boston: R.G. Badger 1920), pp. 88–94. More recently Moss argues against various attempts to reconcile Books 3 and 10, see Leonard Moss, “Plato and the Poetics,” Phil. Q. Vol. 50, No. 4 (1971), pp. 533–42. For other surveys of views about the problem of consistency see also Thomas Gould, “Plato’s Hostility to Art,” Arion, Vol. 3 (1964), pp. 70–91; Alexander Nehamas, “Plato on Imitation and Poetry in Republic 10,” in: Plato on Beauty,

78

Claudia Zichi

Yet, one claim cannot be denied: Plato never wearies of quoting the poets. At times he appears to attribute their art to divine inspiration and sometimes to a form of madness.2 In his ideal state a large part of the education of the young is based on the study of certain kinds of poetry. Concurrently he fiercely criticises poetry as a whole, and professes to banish the tribe of poets from his commonwealth; poets are mere imitators and deceivers, and their art is concerned with the world of appearance, not of reality. The issues regarding Plato’s criticism to poetry can be summed up as follows: 1. Plato’s objection to poetry from the point of view of education: a. Republic Book III: Homer’s epics were part of studies. Socrates, in the dialogue, condemns Homer’s poetry as fostering evil habits and vices in children. Heroes of epics are not examples of sound or ideal morality. They are lusty, cunning, and cruel warmongers. Gods are no better: they insult, fight among themselves, punish instead of forgiving, etc. 2. Objection from a philosophical point of view: a. Philosophy is better than poetry because philosophy deals with the Idea and poetry is twice removed from the original idea. b.  Republic Book X: Poetry does not lead to Truth, but drives us away from it. 3. Objection from a moral point of view: a. Republic book X: The soul of a man is tripartite: one part is dominated by reason; one by bravery; and one is subjected to appetite, that is, it obeys to the baser impulses and emotions. Whatever encourages and strengthens the rational part of the soul is good, and what nourishes the emotional part is bad. b.  Poetry nourishes the baser impulses of men: pleasure and emotion. From these claims, we can deduce that Plato primarily criticises the poets’ authority to impart a moral teaching. If the poet is not fully aware of the message he is conveying there is a risk that he will transmit the wrong values to the community. Plato could not accept this risk, and in his dialogues he challenges the traditional view that regards poets as the leaders of the society. Still, Plato fully recognised the authority of the poets and he never wearies to quote them in his works.

Wisdom, and the Arts, ed. Julius Moravcsik and Philip Temko (Totowa, New Jersey: Rowman & Littlefield, 1982), pp. 47–78. 2 See especially Ion, 534c and Phaedrus, 244a.

Poetic References in Plato’s Laws

79

In 1918, Green states that Plato’s conception of poetry is not systematic and thus cannot be reassumed in one comprehensive statement.3 Beside his questionable conclusion, Greene’s study is valuable because it examines each pass not as an isolated dictum but in relation to the context. Later, in 1974, Dalfen rightly took into consideration the historical background and the contemporary cultural frame in which Plato’s criticism to poetry came to exist.4 From this study it emerges that the criticism of the philosopher is for the most part a reply to the high authority that poets held at his time, and thus a reply to the great expectation held from the audience, that looked up at them as authoritative moral guides. According to Giuliano, who published a study on the actual praxis of Plato’s poetic quotations, the poetic discourse encouraged by Plato is a logos that presents ethical values that are useful for the community.5 In this sense, for the philosopher, the concept of true and false have an ethical value rather than an ontological one: a true discourse is true not when it reflects reality as it is, but rather when it reflects reality as it should be.6 The works of the poets are useful in this perspective: because they make a morally right discourse become trustworthy. In other words, thanks to its power to enchant its readers or listeners, poetry, if used in the right way, can transmit morally valuable teaching (Resp. III, 414b8-c, Leg. II, 658e-660a, 663e-664c). It follows that Plato does not require poetry to express truth; it is sufficient that it conveys likelihood.7 The persuasive force of poetry is due, for Plato, to the power of poetry

3 William C. Greene, “Plato’s View of Poetry,” HSPh, Vol. 29 (1918), pp. 1–75. 4 Joachim Dalfen, Polis und Poiesis, Dalfen: Polis und Poiesis. Die Auseinandersetzung mit der Dichtung bei Platon und seinen Zeitgenossen (Munich: Wilhelm Fink, 1967). 5 Fabio M. Giuliano, Platone e la Poesia. Teoria della composizione e prassi della ricezione (Sankt Augustin: Academia Verlag, 2005), pp. 253–291. 6 For a careful analysis of this concept in Plato with reference to the poetic disocurse see G. R. F. Ferrari, “Plato and Poetry,” in: The Cambridge History of Literary Criticism I. Classical Criticism, ed. George A. Kennedy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), p. 113; Stephen Halliwell, “Plato and the Psychology of Drama,” in: Antike Dramentheorien und ihre Rezeption, ed. Bernhard Zimmermann (Stuttgart: Drama, 1992), pp. 56–59, and Christopher Gill, “Plato on Falsehood – not Fiction,” in: Lies and Fiction in the Ancient World, ed. Christopher Gill and Timothy P. Wiseman (Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 1993), pp. 42–66. More in general also Bruno Gentili, Poesia e pubblico nella Grecia antica: da Omero al V secolo (Bari: Laterza Editori, 1995), p. 100. 7 In the Gorgias 459d5-e1, the persuasive force of the rhetorician is seen as the means, the device, (μηχανή), thanks to which it is possible to make credible the content of a discourse; in the Phaedrus, 267d1, the rhetorical ability of Trasimachus is defined as an ability to enchant, and see also Euthydemus, 289e1-290a4, where Socrates claims that the speechwriters of the time were able to enchant judges and public assemblies.

80

Claudia Zichi

to present its content in an accessible and pleasant form. Therefore, because of its persuasive power, the ancient poetic texts represent at the same time a danger (if they convey the wrong models), and a useful tool (if they convey good moral values) for the community. In book II of the Laws, the Athenian stresses the danger that occurs when the ignorant masses judge poetry on the basis of the pleasure that it transmits (657d-659a). This is, in sum, the basic criticism that Plato moves to poetry: the fact that is regulated by unknowledgeable and incompetent people (Gorg. 459a3-4; Resp. X 602b3; Hipp. Major 284e4-5; Crito, 44d6-10). Such an important task, as to morally educate the community should be carried out not by the masses but rather by the wisest people, i.e., the philosophers (II 658e6–659a1; III 700d1–701b3). The oi polloi cannot be philosophers. Now, while exegetical approaches to the problem of Plato’s attitude towards the poetic arts abound, Plato’s actual use of poetry, i.e. his quotations of it, have been by comparison largely ignored by scholarship. In this sense, it would be interesting to investigate the strict scope of lyric quotation in Plato, for a better comprehension of the role of lyric, in quotation or otherwise, within Plato’s dialogues. As Clay puts it: “A full study of the Platonic art of quotation has yet to be undertaken.”8 A simple list of quotations explicitly recognisable can be found in Brandwood, who listed all the quotations and their authors.9 Only for two poets there exist, beyond a mere list, complete studies of poetic citations, that is, for Pindar and Homer, published respectively by É. Des Places, 1949, and J. Labarbe, 1949. But none of them is specifically devoted to illustrating Plato’s conception of poetry. There have been published also two articles regarding Plato’s way of citation, from a generally technical point of view, one by Des Places, who is interested in the linguistic transposition of non literal quotations, and one by Tarrant, that deals not only with poetic citation but also with ancient proverbs and sayings.10 In our study we will analyse primarily some sections of Plato’s Laws. The literary status of the dialogue has been long overlooked by the scholarship, mostly because of the philosophical and juridical issues tackled by the Athenian; yet, 8 Diskin Clay, “The Art of Platonic Quotation,” in: Il quinto secolo. Studi di filosofia antica in onore di Livio Rossetti, ed. Stefania Giombini and Flavia Marcacci (Perugia: Aguaplano, 2010), p. 328. 9 Leonard Brandwood, A Word Index to Plato (Leeds: W. S. Maney & Son, 1976). 10 Édouard Des Places, Etudes Platoniciennes, 1929–1979 (Leiden: Brill, 1981); Dorothy Tarrant, “Plato’s Use of Quotations and Other Illustrative Material,” CQ, Vol. 1, No. 1–2 (1951), pp. 59–67. For a categorisation of different styles present in Plato’s corpus, see also Holger Thesleff, Studies in the Style of Plato (Helsinki: Akateeminen Kirjakauppa, 1967).

Poetic References in Plato’s Laws

81

during the last decades the academic interest in the aesthetic value of the dialogue has significantly increased.11 More specifically we will be looking at the so-called “preambles” to the laws, which can be defined as shorter or longer prefaces that the Athenian supplies to the proper laws. In book IV of the Laws, the Athenian, who is generally considered to be Plato’s alter ego, clearly illustrates the specific task of the preambles. He argues that the preambles have to persuade the hearer to be well disposed towards the enactments, that is, citizens should be persuaded to follow the laws of their own will, and not because they fear the punishment of the law.12 In the dialogue, it is claimed several times that the enactments should be poeticised, arranged into music and performed in such a way that the audience would be reminded of dramatic poetry: such a strategy serves to persuade the citizens of the validity of the enactments.13 At the same time it is also affirmed in the second book that the poets, in order to be accepted in the city of Magnesia (the ideal colony newly founded), have to follow the guidelines put down by the legislator. The preambles to the laws are explicitly devoted to fulfil this task: they serve to persuade people of the necessity of obeying the laws and make them well disposed towards them.14 Moreover, it is worth noticing that the Athenian, when looking for a written model of education for the young, claims that the conversation that he has been having with Cleinias and Megillos resembles in every respect “a kind of poetry.”15 Given the importance that Plato accredits to “good poetry” for the education of the young, our hypothesis is that in the preambles of the Laws it is possible to find poetic elements that carry out the function of persuading citizens of the validity of the new legislation. The scholarly debate on the functions of the preamble focuses 11 Andrea Nightingale, “Reading/Writing a Sacred Text: a Literary Interpretation of Plato’s Laws,” Classical Philology, Vol. 88, No. 4 (1999), pp. 279–300. 12 References in the use of preamble: Tim. 29 a; Rep. 432e; 531d. 13 Leg. 668a6; b10; 669c; 802c-d; 803 a-b; 854b. For a similar interpretation see Gerard Naddaf, “Literacy and Poetic Performance in Plato’s Laws,” AncPhil, Vol. 20, No. 4 (2000), pp. 339–350. 14 References in the use of preamble: Tim. 29 a; Rep. 432e; 531d. 15 Laws, 818c5-8: “As I looked now to the speeches we’ve been going through since dawn until the present—and it appears to me that we have not been speaking without some inspiration from gods—they seemed to me to have been spoken in a way that resembles in every respect a kind of poetry.” All translations of the Laws, including shorter translations into English of minor phrases from the dialogue, are by Pangle unless otherwise mentioned: Thomas L. Pangle ed., The Laws of Plato. Translated with Notes and an Interpretative Essay by Thomas L. Pangle (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1988).

82

Claudia Zichi

primarily on whether or not they convey a rational teaching. A good compromise in this perspective has been achieved by Laks, who argues that there is no question of rational argumentation in most of the preambles.16 At the same time, however, Laks acknowledges that there certainly is a correlation between the recommendations given in the form of praises, or myths, that is, in the language of poetry, and the rational arguments. In other words, according to Laks, for persuasion to be effective there must be some kind of reason in the irrationality itself. At this point, it is important to clarify what is meant with “poetic language.” By “poetic language” we mean a set of ideas, images, poetic words, and rhetorical devices that we mostly (if not only) find in poetic texts. It should also be noticed that the term “reference” in this study carries a wider meaning than the one usually attributed to it.17 With the word “reference” we mean all those phrases or words that can reveal the presence of an earlier poetic text. In other words, we define as reference not only the mention of an author or the title of a work, but also an unconscious reminiscence or a reference to the poetic work in its totality or to a single expression within it. For the present research, these forms of poetic presence will all have the same value of reference.18 We are not so much interested in the formal aspect of the reference, i.e. in the formula introducing a citation, or in which form the original is re-used (unless this is significant to clarify the function of such a presence). The aim of this study is neither to define a platonic concept of citation or allusive art, nor to detect a change in style through the introduction of different registers, since we believe that a consciousness of such elements, and their following codification, originated only later in the Greek literary culture.19 Therefore we will try to avoid any excessive trespassing into the field of stylistics, rhetoric, and theory of literature. The presence in the dialogue of a poetic reference will be taken into consideration with the aim of recognising its function, and to broaden our knowledge of Plato as a user of poetic texts: for this scope it is not necessary to determine whether the poetic presence is constituted by an explicit quotation or by a more vague reminiscence.

16 Andrè Laks, Médiation et Coercition: pour une Lecture des Lois de Platon (Villeneuve d’Ascq: Presses Universitaires du Septentrion, 2005), pp. 131–140. 17 In the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, reference is defined as: “the act of mentioning something in speech or in writing: the act of referring to something, or someone.” And also: “a line or short section taken from a piece of writing or a speech.” 18 The same criteria in the use of citation are taken by Giuliano, Platone e la Poesia, p. 20. 19 As De Vivo puts it: “only at the beginning of the I cent. a.D. there seems to develop a reflection on the function and modalities of inserting poetic texts in prosa-texts.” Arturo De Vivo and Luigi Spina ed., Come dice il poeta: Percorsi greci e latini di parole poetiche (Napoli: Loffredo, 1992), p. 5.

Poetic References in Plato’s Laws

83

Now, to define precisely what is “poetic” is not an easy task, especially considering Plato’s unique and constant interplay with poetry and rhetoric.20 Plato recognises in these two forms of discourse the power to present their content in an accessible and pleasant form, and hence he values their persuasive force.21 According to what Plato writes in his dialogues, at his time the juxtaposition of rhetoric and poetry was a convention.22 At Gorg. 502d Gorgias agrees with Socrates’s conclusion that poetry is “a rhetorical public speech,” ἡ ποιητική ῥητορικὴ δημεγορία. According to the philosopher, poetry and rhetoric are bound together by a structural analogy.23 Both of them deal with discourses of universal content, expressed in a pleasant form.24 Rhetoric, as much as poetry, is condemned only when it aims to persuade without a concern of right and wrong: but if it follows certain directives, it is useful and can be used as “the maid of philosophy.”25 It has also been argued that the Platonic dialogue as a genre is an innovative type of philosophical language, whose remarkable rhetoric incorporates elements of poetry.26 Seen from this perspective the poetics of the Laws can be traced on two levels: 20 Zacharoula Petraki, The Poetics of Philosophical Language (Berlin and Boston: De Gruyter, 2011), pp. 12–36 and 42–57. 21 Already Gorgias had ascribed the power of πείθειν, “persuade” and ἐπᾴδειν, “enchant”, to both poetry and rhetoric (82 B11.8–14 DK). 22 See also Gorgias (B11, 10 and 13, B23, B26 DK), who glorifies the virtue of both rhetorical and poetic speeches to produce deception, by enchantment. Cf. Donald Russell, Literary Criticism in Antiquity (London: Duckworth, 1981), pp. 14–16; Willem J. Verdenius, “The Principles of Greek Literary Criticism,” Mnemosyne, Vol. 4, No. 36, (1983), pp. 29–31. 23 Giuliano, Platone e la Poesia, p. 259. 24 See, Giuliano, Platone e la Poesia, pp. 234–248, for the correspondence between rhetorical and poetic message as forms of discourse that aim at gratifying the audience, see Gorg. 502b and Elizabeth Asmis, “Plato on Poetic Creativity,” in: The Cambridge Companion to Plato, ed. Richard Kraut, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), pp. 343–4. For the connotation of κήλησις, enchantment, that Plato attributes to both poetry and rhetoric see Resp. 601a-b, 607c7, Leg. 840 c1-3; Prot. 315a8-9; Euth. 209a2-4, Phdr. 267d1; and Verdenius, Greek Literary Criticism, esp. pp. 30–36. 25 Phaedr. 258d4-6; 259e1-262c4, 271a4-274a5; Gorg. 454b5-457c3, 458e3-461b2, 479c8481b5. 26 For further discussion on the interpretive issues, see Julia Annas and Cristopher Rowe ed., New Perspectives on Plato, Modern and Ancient (Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Press, 2002); Ruby Blondell, The Play of Character in Plato’s Dialogues (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002); Charles L. Griswold ed., Platonic Writings, Platonic Reading (Abingdon: Routledge, 1988).

84

Claudia Zichi

1. Microcosmic level: Plato either incorporates in his text direct quotations from the compositions of the most important poets (mostly Homer and the dramatists) or he adopts recognisable poetic themes and motifs. What is more, the Athenian makes constant use of myths to develop his claims. Myths were traditionally recognised as belonging to the realm of poetry, and several studies have shown how Plato appropriates this well-established mode of poetic discourse in his philosophical works and adopts it to suit his own ends.27 2. Macrocosmic level: in book VIII of the Laws (817b), the Athenian calls himself and his interlocutors “poets who have created the best and most beautiful tragedy” (717b).28 However, exactly how this poetry is manifested in the Laws is widely discussed by scholars. Moving on from these general ideas about Plato’s incorporation of poetry in his dialogues, this article intends to analyse two preambles related to the law of marriage in the IV and VI book of the Laws, in order to investigate if and how the Athenian, in the preamble, makes use of poetic themes and poetic language in order to persuade citizens to follow the enactments.

Case Study of the Preamble on Marriage (721b6-c6) At 721b-d the Athenian illustrates the law on marriage: the so-called single law (ἁπλοῦς νόμος) is explicitly divided from the so-called double law (διπλοῦς νόμος) where the element of persuasion is added to the edict. We will study the latter. The law on the institution of marriage is considered a prerequisite for the legislation about births. After having mentioned the penalty that fall on those who do not marry before the age of thirty-five, the Athenian explains why it is necessary to marry: γαμεῖν δέ, ἐπειδὰν ἐτῶν ᾖ τις τριάκοντα, μέχρι τῶν πέντε καὶ τριάκοντα, διανοηθέντα ὡς ἔστιν ᾗ τὸ ἀνθρώπινον γένος φύσει τινὶ μετείληφεν ἀθανασίας, οὗ καὶ πέφυκεν ἐπιθυμίαν ἴσχειν πᾶς πᾶσαν· τὸ γὰρ γενέσθαι κλεινὸν καὶ μὴ ἀνώνυμον κεῖσθαι τετελευτηκότα τοῦ τοιούτου ἐστὶν ἐπιθυμία. Γένος οὖν ἀνθρώπων ἐστίν τι συμφυὲς τοῦ παντὸς χρόνου, ὃ διὰ

27 See among others, Kathryn Morgan, Myth and Philosophy from the Presocratics to Plato (Cambridge: University Press, 2000); Luc Brisson, “Myths in Plato’s Ethics?” in: Plato Ethicus. Philosophy is Life, ed. Maurizio Migliori, Linda M. Napolitano-Valditara and Davide Del Forno (Sankt Augustin: Academia Verlag, 2004), pp. 227–244. 28 Leg. 717b: “For my part, I think it should be as follows: ‘Best of strangers,’ we should say, ‘we ourselves are poets, who have to the best of our ability created a tragedy that is the most beautiful and the best; ….”

Poetic References in Plato’s Laws

85

τέλους αὐτῷ συνέπεται καὶ συνέψεται, τούτῳ τῷ τρόπῳ ἀθάνατον ὄν, τῷ παῖδας παίδων καταλειπόμενον, ταὐτὸν καὶ ἓν ὂν ἀεί, γενέσει τῆς ἀθανασίας μετειληφέναι· (721b6-c6). Everyone is to marry after he reaches the age of thirty and before he reaches thirty-five, bearing in mind that there is a sense in which the human species has by a certain nature a share in immortality, and that it is the nature of everyone to desire immortality in every way. For the desire to become famous and not to lie nameless after one has died is a desire for such a thing. Thus the species of human beings has something in its nature that is bound together with all of time, which it accompanies and will always accompany to the end. In this way the species is immortal; by leaving behind the children of children and remaining one and the same for always, it partakes of immortality by means of coming-into being.

It seems clear that the necessity of marrying lies in two main claims: A. Each and every man seeks eternal glory: τὸ γὰρ γενέσθαι κλεινὸν καὶ μὴ ἀνώνυμον κεῖσθαι τετελευτηκότα τοῦ τοιούτου ἐστὶν ἐπιθυμία, “for the desire to become famous and not to lie nameless after one has died is a desire for such a thing;” B. Humankind is bound up with Time and by leaving behind children, men confirm their participation in eternity: γένος οὖν ἀνθρώπων ἐστίν τι συμφυὲς τοῦ παντὸς χρόνου […] τῷ παῖδας παίδων καταλειπόμενον, ταὐτὸν καὶ ἓν ὂν ἀεί, γενέσει τῆς ἀθανασίας μετειληφέναι, “Thus the species of human beings has something in its nature that is bound together with all of time […] by leaving behind the children of children and remaining one and the same for always, it partakes of immortality by means of coming-into being.” Both themes and the language used to convey them seem to recall the poetic world. Before we look at the individual claims, it might be useful to point out some rhetorical devices present in the text: 1) Three polyptoton: 1) πᾶς πᾶσαν (721c1), 2) συνέπεται συνέψεται (721c4), and 3) παῖδας παίδων (721c5). 2) Alliterations and assonances appear thrice in the passage: ταὐτὸν καὶ ἓν ὂν ἀεί (721c5-6) τούτῳ τῷ τρόπῳ (721c3) ἀθάνατον ὄν (721c4). 3) Ring composition: the same expression τὸ ἀνθρώπινον γένος φύσει τινὶ μετείληφεν ἀθανασίας, human species partake in immortality, both introduces and concludes the argumentation, respectively at 721b6 and c6; this major ring is also characterised by a chiastic order: verb – gen. at 721b6 and respectively genitive – verb at 721c6. 4) Chiastic parallelism: τὸ γὰρ γενέσθαι κλεινὸν καὶ μὴ ἀνώνυμον κεῖσθαι τετελευτηκότα. The adjective κλεινός is preceded by the infinitive γενέσθαι

86

Claudia Zichi

in the first colon, while ἀνώνυμον is followed by the infinitive κεῖσθαι in the second one. The meaning expressed by τὸ γὰρ γενέσθαι κλεινόν and μὴ ἀνώνυμον κεῖσθαι τετελευτηκότα is the same but the litotes in the second colon emphasise the concept. Undoubtedly, the passage is characterised by a high rhetorical language. What is more, when looking at the content of the claims, it is hard to deny its relation with the domain of poetry. First, the Athenian claims that each and every man seeks eternal glory: τὸ γὰρ γενέσθαι κλεινὸν καὶ μὴ ἀνώνυμον κεῖσθαι τετελευτηκότα τοῦ τοιούτου ἐστὶν ἐπιθυμία (721b6-c2).29 And at the end of the preamble it is stated that humankind partakes of immortality by leaving behind children of children. The descendants are then seen as a guarantee of eternal life and therefore the generation of offspring is regarded as a means to achieve immortality. In the Symposium (207d-208e) we find a similar idea regarding human desire of immortality: reproduction is the tool that men possess to achieve eternal life.30 The passage is interesting because Socrates, reporting a speech by Diotima in the Symposium, not only brings up the argument of reproduction in relation to immortality but she also points out men’s ambition to become famous, that is, to be named in eternity: ἐπεί γε καὶ τῶν ἀνθρώπων εἰ ἐθέλεις εἰς τὴν φιλοτιμίαν βλέψαι, θαυμάζοις ἂν τῆς ἀλογίας περὶ ἃ ἐγὼ εἴρηκα εἰ μὴ ἐννοεῖς, ἐνθυμηθεὶς ὡς δεινῶς διάκεινται ἔρωτι τοῦ ὀνομαστοὶ γενέσθαι κ α ὶ κ λ έ ο ς ἐ ς τ ὸ ν ἀ ε ὶ χ ρ ό ν ο ν ἀ θ ά ν α τ ο ν κ α τ α θ έ σ θ α ι . 31 Believe me, Socrates. You have only to look at humankind’s love of honour and you will be surprised at your absurdity regarding the matters I have just mentioned, unless you think about it and reflect how strongly people are affected by the desire to become famous and ‘to lay up immortal glory for all time.’ (208c5-9)

29 Italics added by the author in order to highlight the poetic allusion. 30 Symp. 208b3: “It is by this device (μεχανῇ, scil. the replacement of what is old with what is new) that mortal natures can participate in immortality (θνητὸν ἀθανασίας μετέχει).” Margaret C. Howatson and Frisbee C. C. Sheffield ed., Plato. The Symposium. Cambridge Texts in the History of Philosophy (Cambridge, New York:  Cambridge University Press, 2008).  31 We do not know to whom this verse belongs. Léon Robin, ed., Le Banquet, Platon Oeuvres Complètes. Texte établi et traduit par Léon Robin. Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1929, p. 65, suggests that it might be Plato himself who is parodying Agathon. A different opinion is held by both Howatson, Symposium, p. 46 and Kenneth Dover, Plato: Symposium (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980), p. 156, who regard it as poetic verse from an unknown source. Considered the seriousness of the argument both in the Symposium and in the Laws, we would rather follow the latter hypothesis.

Poetic References in Plato’s Laws

87

In the Symposium, the expression ἔρωτι τοῦ ὀνομαστοὶ γενέσθαι κ α ὶ κ λ έ ο ς ἐ ς τ ὸ ν ἀ ε ὶ χ ρ ό ν ο ν ἀ θ ά ν α τ ο ν κ α τ α θ έ σ θ α , the desire to become famous and ‘to lay up immortal glory for all time’ certainly recalls the idea conveyed in the Laws, namely that all men desire to become famous and not lie nameless. To strengthen her argument, in the Symposium, Diotima mentions to Socrates the examples of famous poetic characters: Alcestis, who died for Admetus, and Achilles who died in order to avenge Patroclus. According to her speech, both heroes aimed to achieve “immortal memory of their virtue,” ἀθάνατον μνήμην ἀρετῆς πέρι ἑαυτῶν (208d6), meaning that posthumous fame is the only reason for which they would die. The adjective κλεινός, which is found in the passage of the Laws, is a poetic word, which is associated with the mythological domain of fame and reputation. Its reference to people is not common in Homer, but is rather common in poetry, especially in Pindar and Bacchylides, among the lyrical poets, and Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides among the tragedians. It is a poetic word, and its use is rare in prose:32 Plato is the only fourth century prose-writer who uses the word.33 He uses it three times: once in the Republic (368a4), once in the Sophist (243a), and once in the Laws (721c). In the Republic (368a4) the adjective kleinos is used with reference to the father of Glaucon. It is noteworthy that the term is mentioned in the context of an elegy composed by the lover of Glaucon: τὴν ἀρχὴν τῶν ἐλεγείων ἐποίησεν ὁ Γλαύκωνος ἐραστής, εὐδοκιμήσαντας περὶ τὴν Μεγαροῖ μάχην, εἰπών ‘παῖδες Ἀρίστωνος, κλεινοῦ θεῖον γένος ἀνδρός’, “Glaucon’s lover was not wrong to begin the elegy he wrote, when you distinguished yourselves at the battle of Megara, by addressing you as ‘Sons of Ariston, godlike family of a famous man’” (368a2-4).34 The adjective does not say anything about the qualities that are to be ascribed to Ariston. Nonetheless, it is used with reference to a poetic text (an elegy), and this strengthens the hypothesis that Plato too uses the term in a poetic context, i.e., the preamble to the law of marriage. The passage in the Sophist

32 Georgios Fatouros, Index verborum zur frühgriechischen Lyrik (Heidelberg: C. Winter, 1966), p. 204. 33 The term is also present in Herodotus at 7.228, where he quotes an epigram composed by Simonides: μνῆμα τόδε κλεινοῖο Μεγιστία. Although Simonides was famous for his epitaphs, we cannot be sure whether the lines attributed to him are in fact his own. He was known for having composed epitaphs during the Persian Wars but later epitaphs are also ascribed to him with no regard to chronology. However the epitaph for his friend Megistias, who died at Thermopylae (83 D), is most likely composed by Simonides. See David Campbell, Greek Lyric Poetry (London: Macmillan, 1967), esp. pp. 240–247. 34 C. D. C. Reeve ed., Plato Republic (Indianapolis, Cambridge: Hackett Publishing, 2004).

88

Claudia Zichi

presents some difficulties. It is mainly of philosophical content: the Stranger of Elea cites different theories of earlier philosophers regarding the nature of Being. At the end he concludes that it is difficult and outrageous to censure such ancient and illustrious men: χαλεπὸν καὶ πλημμελὲς οὕτω μεγάλα κλεινοῖς καὶ παλαιοῖς ἀνδράσιν ἐπιτιμᾶν, “it is difficult and outrageous to censure so much famous and old men” (243a). In this case the use of the poetic word κλεινός can be explained by the mention of Muses a few lines earlier: the philosophers are associated with the Muses because they wrote in verses. Thus, not only the poets, but also the philosophers can be called κλεινοί. To sum up, the thematic connection traced between the explanation of the desire of immortal fame in the Laws and in the Symposium (one of the most poetic of Plato’s dialogues) and the use of the poetic adjective κλεινός seem to demonstrate that in the preamble on marriage the Athenian is using the idea of immortal fame as it is described in the works of poets, that is, the immortal fame that derives from glorious deeds. Hence his discourse becomes more persuasive, because he is borrowing ideas and terms which belong to the poetic world. Moving to the next part of the sentence, we read that everyone has a desire “not to lie nameless” μὴ ἀνώνυμον κεῖσθαι. Ἀνώνυμος, anonymous, is an interesting term. It can either be referring to someone without name (i.e., from birth), as in Od. 8 v. 552: οὐ μὲν γάρ τις πάμπαν ἀνώνυμός ἐστ’ ἀνθρώπων, “for there is no one of all mankind who is nameless” or to someone who is nameless in the sense of “inglorious”.35 With this latter meaning the adjective is found for instance in the first Olympian of Pindar. The young Pelops disapproves of the idea of cherishing an inglorious old age τά κέ τις ἀνώνυμον// γῆρας ἐν σκότῳ καθήμενος ἕψοι μάταν // ἁπάντων καλῶν ἄμμορος; “why should anyone sit stewing an inglorious old age in the darkness, with no share of any fine deeds” (vv. 82–84). Glory in old age and after death is seen as a proof of the courage and the achievements of a man in life and therefore it represents the highest happiness. A similar expression to the one we read in the passage of the Laws is also found in Simonides (book 13, epigram. 26, line 1): Μνήσομαι, οὐ γὰρ ἔοικεν ἀνώνυμον ἐνθάδ’ Ἀρχεναύτεω κεῖσθαι θανοῦσαν ἀγλαὰν ἄκοιτιν, “I will tell of her; for it is not opportune that she lies here without a name, the noble wife of Archenautes.” The author of the epigram will remember the woman because it is not opportune that the noble wife of Archenautes lies anonymous. The verb κεῖμαι, “to lie buried,” is frequently used

35 The term is often used with this latter meaning by the tragedians: Soph. Trach. 377; Eurip. Troiades, 1319; Iphig. Taur. 502; Hyppol. 1 and 1028.

Poetic References in Plato’s Laws

89

in epitaphs.36 Even though it is a common word, its meaning of lying nameless is emphasised by the poets. Poets are in charge of keeping alive the memory of the dead. The same concept is also common among tragic poets. In the Hippolytus by Euripides, Hippolytus swears to Theseus that he has never touched Phaedra and he consents to die without name or fame, if he is lying: ἦ τἄρ’ ὀλοίμην ἀκλεὴς ἀνώνυμος, “may I perish with no name or reputation” (v. 1028). In this case the meaning of the adjective is strengthened by the synonym ἀκλεής. Once again, we find evidence that the expression used by the Athenian recalls a poetic world of fame and public honour after death. The second part of the preamble is also interesting for its re-use of poetry. The Athenian states that humankind is bound up with Time and that by leaving behind descendants, men confirm their participation in eternity: Γένος οὖν ἀνθρώπων ἐστίν τι συμφυὲς τοῦ παντὸς χρόνου […] τῷ παῖδας παίδων καταλειπόμενον, ταὐτὸν καὶ ἓν ὂν ἀεί, γενέσει τῆς ἀθανασίας μετειληφέναι, “Thus the species of human beings has something in its nature that is bound together with all of time […] In this way the species is immortal; by leaving behind the children of children and remaining one and the same for always, it partakes of immortality by means of coming-into being.” It has to be noted that the concept of the human species being “bound together with time,” συμφυὲς τοῦ παντὸς χρόνου (721c3), is a topos among tragic authors.37 The adjective συμφυές means “congenital,” “born with one,” but it also indicates something that is “grown together” and “naturally united.” It is usually constructed together with the dative and rarely used with the genitive. An adjective close in meaning to συμφυὲς is σύμφυτος. Σύμφυτος qualifies αἰών, “lifetime,” in Agamemnon v. 106, while both Eumenides (v. 286) and Prometheus (v. 981) by Aeschylus, have the equivalent notion of χρόνος γηράσκων, “time that grows old.” Finally, in Pindar (Parth. I vv. 14–20) we find the idea that men who leave descendants on earth avoid grievous trouble.38 According to Des Places the Pindaric verses serve as a prelude to the platonic argument.39

36 Simon Goldhill, The Poet’s Voice: Essays on Poetics and Greek Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 1991. 37 Klaus Schöpsdau ed., Nomoi (Gesetze), Buch IV–VII: Bd IX, 2. Platon: Werke, Ubersetzung, Kommentar (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2003), p. 243. See also Edouard Des Places, Syngeneia. La parenté de l’homme avec Dieu, d’Homère à la patristique (Paris: Klincksieck, 1964). 38 Parth. 1, Puech, 1961, 167: ἀθάναται δὲ βροτοῖς// ἁμέραι, σῶμα δ’ ἐστὶ θνατόν. // ἀλλ’ ᾧτινι μὴ λιπότε- // κνος σφαλῇ πάμπαν οἶκος βιαί-// ᾳ δαμεὶς ἀνάγκᾳ,// ζώει κάματον προφυγὼν ἀνια-// ρόν· τὸ γὰρ πρὶν γενέ- [σθαι …]. 39 Edouard Des Places, Pindare et Platon (Paris: Beauchesne, 1949), pp. 43–44.

90

Claudia Zichi

The interpretation of the poem is complicated because of the lacuna both in the strophe and in the epode. However, the meaning of the last verses is clear: “for mortals days are endless but the body is mortal,” ἀθάναται δὲ βροτοῖς// ἁμέραι, σῶμα δ’ ἐστὶ θνατόν. Generations follow one another over time, and happy is the man who leaves posterity behind him, or at least he avoids grievous misfortune (ζώει κάματον προφυγὼν ἀνιαρόν). Leaving behind descendants is seen as an opportunity to be remembered after death and therefore as a possibility to partake in immortality. From a linguistic point of view there are no strong similarities between Pindar’s fragment and Plato (except for the root of θάνατ-) but the idea that descendants are seen as a guarantee of eternal life is certainly suggested in the poem. Finally, it is also worth noticing that the theme of Time growing older together with humankind and the necessity of offspring in order to take part in immortality are both themes that are often found in earlier poetic texts. The passage we have analysed is regarded by the Athenian as the model of the double type of law, that is, a law composed by the preamble and the actual law. A new preamble on marriage, or more precisely a broadening of the abovementioned preamble, occurs later in book VI at 772e7-774a2. The preamble at 772e7-774a2 intends to promote the union of the citizens with a specific partner. The Athenian is promoting the necessity of a “measured” mixture of characters. The Athenian argues that a “measured,” “well-blended” union of characters will benefit both the city and the married families. The Athenian affirms through a gnomic sentence that when it comes to virtue, what is equal and measured is thousand times better than the unrestrained: τὸ γὰρ ὁμαλὸν καὶ σύμμετρον ἀκράτου40 μυρίον διαφέρει πρὸς ἀρετήν, “for the even-keeled and the commensurable are distinguished ten thousand fold from the unrestrained when it comes to virtue” (773a6-7). Now, in order to express the idea of something unsuitable, something that is not of the right measure, the Athenian uses the adjective ἄκρατος, an adjective that literally means “unmixed” and which is mostly employed to indicate the “unmixed wine.” The same image of the unmixed wine as symbol of immoderate condition in the city is conveyed later in the preamble, at 773c8-d4: οὐ γὰρ ῥᾴδιον ἐννοεῖν ὅτι πόλιν εἶναι δεῖ δίκην κρατῆρος κεκραμένην, οὗ μαινόμενος μὲν οἶνος ἐγκεχυμένος ζεῖ, κολαζόμενος δὲ ὑπὸ νήφοντος ἑτέρου θεοῦ καλὴν κοινωνίαν λαβὼν ἀγαθὸν πῶμα καὶ μέτριον ἀπεργάζεται.

40 The term ἀκράτος is used in relation to liquids, especially for wine, see Od. 24.73; Il. 2.341; Hdt. 1.207.

Poetic References in Plato’s Laws

91

For it’s not easily understood
that a city should be mixed, just like the drinker’s bowl: the wine, when poured in, is throbbing with madness, but under
the chastening of another, sober god, it forms a noble partnership that creates a good and measured drink. (773c8-d4)

The city is here compared to a wine bowl, where the wine, when it is tempered with another pure liquid (water) becomes a good and moderate beverage. It is deducible from the context that the Athenian is calling “water” a “sober god.” The idea conveyed by the metaphor, that is, the idea that virtue is a correct mixture of wine (as element opposed to the rational) and water (as the rational element) is an idea that we find also in Plato’s earlier dialogues, e.g., in Resp. 443c9-44a2, where the metaphor of mixing wine and water is used to transmit the idea that a healthy soul is a mixture of reason, spirit, and appetite. However, in book VI the context is slightly different: wine represents the negative element, madness, which is “chastised” by a neutral element, the sober god, i.e., water. As has been remarked, the metaphor of the drinking-bowl can be related to earlier myths. According to Boyancé, the melange of wine and water is to be referred to a myth related to Dionysus and his education by the nymphs.41 The wine tempered by the water represents Dionysus, who is tempered by the influence of the nymphs.42 Considering the role of krasis in symposia and medical practices, the Athenian’s metaphor and image of the drinking bowl makes the concept of mixing characters more intelligible to an audience that was familiar with the concrete process. The lyrical attribute of the metaphor was already noticed in antiquity, by Longinus who, in the treaty On the Sublime (at 32,7) reflects on the fact that the use of τρόποι often leads writers to surmount the right measure.43 Longinus refers to the above-mentioned passage in the Laws and reports of some unnamed critics who have criticised Plato for using a boastful style: ἐπὶ γὰρ τούτοις καὶ τὸν Πλάτωνα οὐχ ἥκιστα διασύρουσι, πολλάκις ὥσπερ ὑπὸ βακχείας τινὸς τῶν λόγων εἰς ἀκράτους καὶ ἀπηνεῖς μεταφορὰς καὶ εἰς ἀλληγορικὸν στόμφον ἐκφερόμενον. […] Νήφοντα γάρ, φασί, θεὸν τὸ ὕδωρ λέγειν κόλασιν δὲ τὴν κρᾶσιν, ποιητοῦ τινος τῷ ὄντι οὐχὶ νήφοντός ἐστι.

41 Plato’s concept of mixture, which is extremely relevant in the late dialogues, is discussed by Pierre Boyancé, “Platon et le vin,” Bulletin de l’Assotiation Guillaume Budé, No. 10 (1951), esp. pp. 8–10, Comparison with the drinking-bowl are also found at Polit. 305e-311c, Phaid. 111d5; Phil. 61b-c; Tim. 41d5. 42 For the source of the myth and its different versions see Boyancé, “Platon et le vin,” p. 9. More in general, for the role of the wine in Magnesia, see esp. pp. 8–12. For the ancient sources of the myth see Atheneus, XI, p. 465, Theophrastos, On Drunkenness. 43 For the reference see also Schöpsdau, Nomoi, p. 455.

92

Claudia Zichi It is for such things (scil. the use of tropes) that they criticise Plato, as he seems to write often under the influence of some bacchic frenzy being carried away towards untempered and rough metaphors and an allegorical bombast. […] to call water a divinity and the blending of two elements a chastisement is proper of a poet that in reality is not sober. (32, 7)

Longinus is referring here to Plato’s poetic metaphor of the wine-bowl. It can be argued thus that Plato’s language in the preamble of the Laws was perceived by Longinus, (that is, in the first half of the first century A.D.), as a language somehow close to the dithyrambic style. Plato’s style of writing is in fact resembled to the style of someone possessed by “bacchic frenzy.”44 In addition to the general terms of the question, it has been suggested by England, that the expression μνηστεύειν γάμον, “bring about a marriage,” at 773 b5, might be a reminiscence of Euripides I.A. 847, at the moment when Clytemnestra realises that Achilles has never courted, nor intended to marry her daughter Iphigenia: μνηστεύω γάμους / οὐκ ὄντας, ὡς εἴξασιν, “The marriage I am courting has no reality it seems” (v. 847).45 The combination of μνηστεύω, “seek in marriage/espouse” and γάμους “wedding” occurs in Euripides and a century after Plato in Callimachus and in Apollonius, and in later prose.46 Even though it is hard to say whether or not Plato is referring to Euripides, however, it is plausible that Plato already heard the expression and thus its presence at 773c8 colours the text with poetic echoes. To conclude, the preamble, in order to be effective, needs to make use of those arts that are capable of moving the intellect of the masses: poetry and rhetoric. Obviously, the preamble does not lack rhetorical figures such as metaphors (773c8-d6), figura etymologica (773a1; 773d1), parallelism (773a2-3), and chiasm (773c5-6). What is more, it should be pointed out here that, in ancient Greece, it was rhetoric that adopted poetic figures of speech and not the other way around. Now, the rhetorical figures together with more distinctive poetic expressions are indicators of a more lyrical language, a language that is able to touch the inner cords of the audience.

44 The bacchic frenzy that Longinus refers to Plato at 32.7 probably hints to a judgement expressed by Dionysios of Halycarnassus, who claims that Plato in his work misuses the dithyrambic style; for further analysis see Henry Lebègue, Du Sublime (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1965), p. 46. 45 It should, however, be noted here that modern editors of the Iphigeneia at Aulis, such as James Diggle ed., Euripidea (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994) and David Kovacs ed., Bacchae. Iphigenia at Aulis. Rhesus (New York: Loeb Classical Library, 2002) do not adopt the reading μνηστεύω, which is transmitted in L (codex unicus), but have instead μαστεύω, that is a conjecture by Nauck. 46 Yet, given the textual problems of the Iphigeneia it might be hard to say. 

Poetic References in Plato’s Laws

93

Conclusion As we have previously mentioned, this preamble constitutes the second part of the preamble on marriage that has been discussed at 721b-722d. The first preamble on marriage (721b-d) was mostly devoted to the necessity of procreation, while the second preamble focuses on the necessity of the right partner. As regards the first preamble, in the words of the Athenian, the desire for immortality is the motive for marriage. But immortality can be achieved both through glory (poets) and through the offspring (the Athenian). Our claim is that the idea of eternal glory (achieved, according to the poets, through virtues worth of memory rather than offspring) is alluded to, very concisely, at 721 c1-2, while the argument regarding the necessity of providing offspring is developed more extensively at 721c3-8. The Athenian conveys an argument that is new, i.e. offspring allows people to achieve immortality, but, in order to persuade his audience, he uses words and concepts that are mostly associated with poetry. In short, it seems that in the first preamble on the marriage law we find echoes of the poetic world. As for the second preamble (at 772e7-774a2) one claim in particular strikes us as noteworthy in this preamble: that the evidence for the necessity of choosing the right partner is, for the most part, conveyed through the metaphor of the tempered drinking-bowl. One might conclude that the argumentation revolves around the employment and explanatory power of one single metaphor: society should be equal to well-tempered wine. The question that arises is: how should one understand Plato’s reasoning in these two preambles? One hypothesis might be that philosophy hides in the right use of a certain poetic language so that those citizens less familiar with other philosophical methods of enquiry, e.g., the elenctic or the diairetic method (the latter dismissed in the Sophist) can still be rationally persuaded. Furthermore, why are poetic references so important in the Athenian’s attempts to persuade the citizens of the validity of the law? We would argue that the poetic reference, as well as the higher rhetorical style of the discourse, enchants and encourages the audience to follow the laws, by carrying out the educative and exhortative function that is typical of poetry.

Bibliography Annas, Julia and Rowe, Cristopher, eds. New Perspectives on Plato, Modern and Ancient. Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Press, 2002. Asmis, Elizabeth. “Plato on Poetic Creativity.” In: The Cambridge Companion to Plato, ed. Richard Kraut. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992, pp. 338–64.

94

Claudia Zichi

Blondell, Ruby. The Play of Character in Plato’s Dialogues. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Boyancé, Pierre. “Platon et le vin.” Bulletin de l’Assotiation Guillaume Budé, No. 10, 1951, pp. 3–19. Brandwood, Leonard. A Word Index to Plato. Leeds: W. S. Maney & Son, 1976. Brisson, Luc. “Myths in Plato’s Ethics?” In: Plato Ethicus. Philosophy is Life, ed. Maurizio Migliori, Linda M. Napolitano-Valditara and Davide Del Forno. Sankt Augustin: Academia Verlag, 2004, pp. 227–244. Brownson, Carleton L. Plato’s Studies and Criticism of the Poets. Boston: R.G. Badger 1920. Campbell, David A. Greek Lyric Poetry. London: Macmillan, 1967. Clay, Diskin. “The Art of Platonic Quotation.” In: Il quinto secolo. Studi di filosofia antica in onore di Livio Rossetti, ed. Stefania Giombini and Flavia Marcacci. Perugia: Aguaplano, 2010, pp. 327–338. Dalfen, Joachim. Polis und Poiesis, Die Auseinandersetzung mit der Dichtung bei Platon und seinen Zeitgenossen. Munich: Wilhelm Fink, 1967. De Vivo Arturo and Spina Luigi, eds. Come dice il poeta: Percorsi greci e latini di parole poetiche. Napoli: Loffredo, 1992. Des Places, Edouard. Pindare et Platon. Paris: Beauchesne, 1949. Des Places, Edouard. Les Lois. Platon. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. 1951. Des Places, Edouard. Syngeneia. La parenté de l’homme avec Dieu, d’Homère à la patristique. Paris: Klincksieck, 1964. Des Places, Edouard. Etudes Platoniciennes, 1929–1979. Leiden: Brill, 1981. Diggle James, ed. Euripidea. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994. Dover, Kenneth, ed. Plato: Symposium. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980. England, Edward B., ed. Plato. The Laws. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1921. Fatouros, Georgios. Index verborum zur frühgriechischen Lyrik. Heidelberg: C. Winter, 1966. Ferrari G.R.F. “Plato and Poetry.” In: The Cambridge History of Literary Criticism I. Classical Criticism, ed. George A. Kennedy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989, pp. 92–148. Gentili, Bruno. Poesia e pubblico nella Grecia antica: da Omero al V secolo. Bari: Laterza Editori, 1995.

Poetic References in Plato’s Laws

95

Gill, Christopher. “Plato on Falsehood – not Fiction.” In: Lies and Fiction in the Ancient World, ed. Christopher Gill and Timothy P. Wiseman. Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 1993, pp. 38–87. Giuliano, Fabio M. Platone e la Poesia. Sankt Augustin: Academia Verlag, 2005. Goldhill Simon. The Poet’s Voice: Essays on Poetics and Greek Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991. Gould, Thomas. “Plato’s Hostility to Art.” Arion, Vol. 3, 1964, pp. 70–91. Greene, William C. “Plato’s View of Poetry.” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, Vol. 29, 1918, pp. 1–75. Griswold Charles L., ed. Platonic Writings, Platonic Reading. Abingdon: Routledge, 1988. Halliwell, Stephen. “Plato and the Psychology of Drama.” In: Antike Dramentheorien und ihre Rezeption, ed. Bernhard Zimmermann. Stuttgart: Drama, 1992, pp. 55–73. Howatson Margaret C. and Frisbee C. C. Sheffield, eds. Plato. The Symposium. Cambridge Texts in the History of Philosophy. Cambridge NY:  Cambridge University Press, 2008. Labarbe, Jules. Homer de Platon. Liège: Faculté de philosophie et lettres de l’Université de Liège, 1949. Kovacs David, ed. Bacchae. Iphigenia at Aulis. Rhesus. New York: Loeb Classical Library, 2002. Lebègue, Henry, ed. Du Sublime. Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1965. Laks, Andrè. Médiation et Coercition: pour une Lecture des Lois de Platon. Villeneuve d’Ascq: Presses Universitaires du Septentrion, 2005. Morgan, Kathryn. Myth and Philosophy from the Presocratics to Plato. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. Moss, Leonard. “Plato and the Poetics.” Philological Quarterly, Vol. 50, No. 4, 1971, pp. 533–42. Naddaf, Gerard. “Literacy and Poetic Performance in Plato’s Laws.” Ancient Philosophy, Vol. 20, No. 4, 2000, pp. 339–350. Nehamas, Alexander. “Plato on Imitation and Poetry in Republic 10.” In: Plato on Beauty, Wisdom, and the Arts, ed. Julius Moravcsik and Philip Temko. Totowa NJ: Rowman & Littlefield, 1982, pp. 47–78. Nightingale, Andrea. “Reading/Writing a Sacred Text: a Literary Interpretation of Plato’s Laws.” Classical Philology, Vol. 88, No. 4, 1999, pp. 279–300. Pangle Thomas L., ed. The Laws of Plato. Translated, with Notes and an Interpretive Essay by Thomas L. Pangle. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1988.

96

Claudia Zichi

Petraki, Zacharoula. The Poetics of Philosophical Language. Berlin and Boston: De Gruyter, 2011. Reeve C. D. C. Plato Republic. Translated from the New Standard Greek Text, with Introduction, by C.D.C. Reeve. Indianapolis, Cambridge: Hackett Publishing, 2004. Robin, Léon, ed. Le Banquet, Platon Oeuvres Complètes. Texte établi et traduit par Léon Robin. Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1929. Russell, Donald. Literary Criticism in Antiquity. London: Duckworth, 1981. Schöpsdau, Klaus, ed. Nomoi (Gesetze), Buch IV–VII: Bd IX,2. Platon: Werke, Ubersetzung, Kommentar. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2003. Tarrant, Dorothy. “Plato’s Use of Quotations and Other Illustrative Material.” Classical Quarterly, Vol. 1, Iss. 1–2, 1951, pp. 59–67. Thesleff, Holger. Studies in the Style of Plato. Helsinky: Akateeminen Kirjakauppa, 1967. Verdenius, Willem J. “The Principles of Greek Literary Criticism.” Mnemosyne, Vol. 4, No. 36, 1983, pp. 14–59.

Lena Rydholm

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics: “As Fragile as Chrysanthemums”? Abstract: I aim to show how the female poet Li Qingzhao 李清照 (1084–ca. 1155) skilfully manipulated the reading of the conventional image of the chrysanthemum in her ci poems, thereby deconstructing the distinction between “feminine” and “masculine” aesthetics and imagery, and the images of female personas being analogous with “flowers” in ci poetry by male poets. I will trace the “feministic” undertones in her ci poems.

Introduction Natural imagery has been an essential part of Chinese poetry since ancient times, as evident in the oldest preserved anthology of “songs” (shi 詩), The Book of Songs (Shijing; from approx. 1000–600 BCE). The term shi became the generic term for “poetry” in general, and for several specific genres in particular. “Poetry” is the word generally used when translating shi into English, though it is not an exact equivalent; hence I will use the term shi poetry, so as also to be able to distinguish it from the poetic genre of song lyrics called ci poetry mainly discussed in this study. The reading of natural imagery in The Book of Songs in mainstream Chinese literary tradition has focused on detecting analogies and uncovering moral and political messages, a practice that influenced the interpretation of imagery in pre-modern poetry as a whole, combined with a tendency to apply autobiographical interpretations. The distinguishing of two major styles in ci poetry based on theme, setting and imagery, and on cultural stereotypes of masculinity and femininity has dominated the reading of imagery in ci poetry through the ages. In this article, I analyse the natural imagery in the song lyrics (ci poetry) of the most prominent female poet of the Song dynasty, Li Qingzhao 李清照 (1084– ca. 1155).1 I will focus on her creative use of the conventional image of the chrysanthemum. To appreciate her efforts and the obstacles she faced, the article begins with a short introduction to the traditions of reading natural imagery in the Chinese literary tradition, introducing its ideological foundation, key concepts and the engendered aesthetics involved in reading imagery in ci poetry. This is followed by

1 I would like to dedicate this study to the eminent scholar Professor Kang-i Sun Chang, whose excellent studies on ci poetry have been a great source of inspiration for me.

98

Lena Rydholm

a brief biographical overview, to establish her literary and personal role models, the restrictions of gender and class that she faced, and the problems arising from autobiographical readings of her poems. Through an analysis of four of her ci poems using a “feminine” aesthetic strategy of writing (and in addition one of her shi poems), I aim to show how Li Qingzhao skilfully manipulates the conventional reading of natural imagery, deconstructing the distinction between “feminine” and “masculine” aesthetic styles and imagery, along with the image of female personas/ poets as being analogous with “flowers” in the world of ci poetry by male ci poets. In my reading of these four ci poems written using a “feminine” aesthetic strategy, and in addition, the one and only extant ci poem written by Li using a “masculine” aesthetic strategy, I thus detect possible “feministic” undertones in Li Qingzhao’s ci poems, well before the female poets of the nineteenth century used masculine aesthetic strategies in ci poems in order to “break the shackles of gender,” such as Gu Chun 顧 春 (太清), Shen Shanbao 沈善寳 and others.2

The Reading of Natural Imagery in Chinese and Western Literary Tradition Ways of reading natural imagery in Chinese and “Western” pre-modern poetry have developed, based on ideology, philosophical ideas, cultural and aesthetic values and the like in pre-modern times, and have evolved through the ages. This process, in the Chinese context, has been described by Pauline Yu in The Reading of Imagery in the Chinese Poetic Tradition, which also constitutes the main theoretical framework of this study. Hence, some basic assumptions in her book are summarised below. Yu claims that there is a fundamental difference in the ontological foundations of Chinese and Western literary tradition. This explains the different views of the relationships between reality and image, and of the poet’s role and use of figurative language, which has resulted in different ways of reading imagery in pre-modern poetry.3 Yu discusses the ontological foundation of the theory of mimesis as “imitation” or “representation,” which became a paradigm in

2 These poets’ strategies are discussed by Grace Fong in “Engendering the Lyric: Her image and Voice in Song,” in: Voices of the Song Lyric in China, ed. Pauline Yu (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994). 3 Pauline Yu, The Reading of Imagery in the Chinese Poetic Tradition (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1987) is an excellent introduction to the reading of imagery in Chinese literary tradition. Yu discusses mainly traditional, mainstream ideas and paradigms. There were also other views of literature and poetics in China in ancient times, not discussed in this article.

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

99

Western poetics by the eighteenth century and influenced the reading of imagery in pre-modern Western poetry: Plato had criticized poetry for lying at one remove from concrete reality, already but a pale imitation of the timeless Forms, but Aristotle redefines and re-evaluates the nature of this distance. Poetry is indeed removed from sensible reality, but that is not in fact its true object of imitation anyway. It does not present what is or has happened, in a literal attempt to copy reality, but rather what might happen, what is possible by virtue of the laws of probability or necessity, and universal human modes of thought, feeling, and action. […] the poet represents these universals through human action, and it is in the devising and constructing of plot (mythos) that the poetry proves to be a “maker.” […] Mimesis is, after all, predicated on a fundamental ontological dualism: the assumption that there is a truer reality transcendent to the concrete, historical realm in which we live. And the relationship between the two is replicated in the creative act and artifact.4

Through the ages, the word “image” has denoted “picture, imitation, or copy,” but as Pauline Yu points out, “The mimetic poet was not, after all, a copyist of nature, but rather an artificer, someone who contrived striking figures to ornament, illuminate, and advance an intellectual or spiritual argument.”5 According to Yu, by the seventeenth century, the meaning of imagery had evolved into “figurative language,” especially “metaphor,” which was able to encompass “both sensuous content and figurative language.”6 Imagery gradually went from being “a rather insignificant element of poetry” to being “the very differentiae of poetry itself.”7 Mimetic theory is embedded in the concepts of “imagery” and “metaphor” in “Western” literary theory today, as evident in the definitions in A Dictionary of Literary Terms and Literary Theory: imagery (L ‘making of likenesses’). The term image and imagery have many connotations and meanings. Imagery as a general term covers the use of language to represent objects, actions, feelings, thoughts, ideas, states of mind and any sensory or extra-sensory experience. […] we may distinguish between the literal, the perceptual and the conceptual. […] Many images […] are conveyed by figurative language, as in metaphor, simile, synecdoche, onomatopoeia and metonymy.8

4 Yu, The Reading of Imagery, p. 5. 5 Yu, The Reading of Imagery, pp. 3 and 9. Yu relies on Ray Frazer’s “The Origin of the Term ‘Image’,” in ELH, No. 27 (1960), pp. 149–161, for her discussion of this concept in Western literary tradition, Yu, p. 3, f. 3. 6 Yu, The Reading of Imagery, p. 7. 7 Yu discusses for instance Anna Barbauld’s ideas about “pure poetry” or “poetry in the abstract,” The Reading of Imagery, p. 9. 8 John Anthony Cuddon, ed., and Claire Preston, rev., A Dictionary of Literary Terms and Literary Theory (Oxford: Blackwell, 1998), p. 413.

100

Lena Rydholm

metaphor (Gk ‘carrying from one place to another’) A figure of speech in which one thing is described in terms of another. The basic figure in poetry. A comparison is usually implicit; whereas in simile it is explicit.9

Imagery thus concerns the “making of likenesses” and metaphor involves the “carrying from one place to another”; both require the poet’s craftsmanship. Pauline Yu: The mimetic assumptions at the heart of the Western tradition […] conceive of the poet as artificer, as a maker of fictions that represent yet are different from, other than, the phenomena of the concrete, sensible world. Metaphor, as the recognition or even creation of similarity in difference, and as a process that functions by virtue of otherness in reference, encapsulates the same presuppositions. The assumption of a fundamental dualism between the physical and the metaphysical is crucial here.10

Since “metaphor” implies the transference of meaning from one entity to another, it is convenient to distinguish the two parts of the metaphor by separate terms. I. A. Richards used the terms “tenor” and “vehicle.” Tenor is now used to refer to the object/person/concept/emotion and so on meant, while “vehicle” refers to the carrier of this meaning, selected or created through comparison/analogy. This distinction is not relevant in pre-modern Chinese poetics. If Western literary culture is founded on ontological dualism, Chinese literary culture is founded on a monistic worldview, the immanent cosmic principle of Dao, Pauline Yu: Indigenous Chinese philosophical traditions agree on a fundamentally monistic view of the universe; the cosmic principle or Tao [Dao 道] may transcend any individual phenomenon, but it is totally immanent in this world, and there is no suprasensory realm that lies beyond, is superior to, or is different in kind from the level of physical beings. True reality is not supernatural but in the here and now, and this is a world, furthermore, in which fundamental correspondences exist between and among cosmic patterns (wen 文) and operations and those of human culture.11

Pauline Yu refers to famous passage in “The Great Preface” to The Book of Songs to explain the implications of a monistic worldview for Chinese poetics: Poetry is where the intent of the heart/mind (xin 心) goes. What in the heart is intent is poetry when emitted in words. An emotion moves within and takes form in words. […] Emotions are emitted in sounds, and when sounds form a pattern, they are called tones. The tones of a well-governed world are peaceful and lead to joy, its government harmonious; the tones of a chaotic world are resentful and anger, its government perverse; the tones of a defeated state are mournful to induce longing, its people in difficulty. Thus in

9 J.A. Cuddon, A Dictionary of Literary Terms, p. 507. 10 Yu, The Reading of Imagery, p. 19. 11 Yu, The Reading of Imagery, pp. 32–33.

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

101

regulating success and failure, moving heaven and earth, and causing spirits and gods to respond, nothing comes closer than poetry.12

This statement became a paradigm in Chinese pre-modern poetics. It explains the poet’s role in society and the didactic function of poetry in Chinese literary tradition. Pauline Yu: Thus the [Great] Preface here can assume that what is internal (emotion) will naturally find some externally correlative form or action, and that poetry can spontaneously reflect, affect, and effect political and cosmic order. In other words, the seamless connection between the individual and the world enables the poem simultaneously to reveal feelings, provide an index of governmental stability, and serve as a didactic tool. Furthermore, the connections between subject and object or among objects, which in the West have by and large been credited to the creative ingenuity of the poet, are viewed in Chinese tradition as already pre-established; the poet’s primary achievement often lies in his ability to transcend, rather than to assert, his individuality and distinctiveness from the elements of his world.13

In his Traditional Chinese Poetry and Poetics Stephen Owen discussed these by cosmic order pre-established connections or correlations in term of the “natural categories”: The natural cosmos, of which the historical empire was the institutional reflection, was a system of processes, things and relations. Between systems, correlations were made by a principle which might be called analogy, if analogy did not presume some fundamental difference. The most apposite term in Chinese is lei 類, “natural category”: these correlations of pattern were not made by a willful act of analogy but rather occurred because their elements were, in essential ways, ‘of the same kind.’14 Both lei, “natural category,” and the Western concept of metaphor (closest perhaps to the Chinese yü 喻) are ultimately based upon analogy; however, the metaphor is fictional and involves true substitution, while lei is a shared category that is “strictly true,” based upon the order of the world.15

To sum up: If we, like Pauline Yu, assume that pre-modern “Western” poetics is dominated by a dualistic worldview, thus, with regard to imagery, the poet thereby is an artificer who employs figures of speech such as metaphor, to convey thoughts, emotions, ideas through a process of transference of meaning from one entity to 12 “The Great Preface” (“Daxu” 大序) to The Book of Songs, in translation by Pauline Yu, The Reading of Imagery, pp. 31–32. 13 Yu, The Reading of Imagery, p. 32. 14 Stephen Owen, Traditional Chinese Poetry and Poetics. Omen of the World (Madison WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 1985), p. 18. 15 Owen, Traditional Chinese Poetry, p. 61.

102

Lena Rydholm

another, from tenor to vehicle. If we combine this assumption with the conception that literary value involves novelty and originality, this would put pressure on poets to create “original” metaphors, to create “new” vehicles for “conventional” tenors. But within Chinese pre-modern poetics, based on a monistic worldview, the relationships between the “tenor” and a “vehicle” (in Western terms) are preestablished through certain “cosmic” or “natural” categorical correspondences. The poet’s role is thereby not to create new and original “vehicles” for “tenors.” As James Liu stated: “Chinese poetry is riddled with hackneyed images like ‘cloudy hair’, ‘starry eyes’, ‘flowery face’, etc.”16 To Western critics valuing the creation of metaphors, this may seem to diminish the value of pre-modern Chinese poetry. Such an attitude would, in my view, be based on cultural biases, a failure to comprehend the aesthetics involved in the use of natural imagery in Chinese premodern poetry. James Liu: The effect of imagery does not depend entirely on its originality; for whereas an original image can stimulate the imagination of the reader by its novelty, a conventional one can, by its very familiarity, more readily call forth the desired response and the relevant associations. If the poet uses images which have similar associations to build up a coherent picture, or if he uses a conventional image but gives it a twist or a fresh significance in a new context, or if he further develops such an image or modifies it to suit his present purpose, then it matters little whether the imagery is original or not.17

We may conclude that the Chinese pre-modern poet’s role is rather to use these conventional images in a creative and original way, for instance in a new context. The creative use of conventional images by many famous poets through the ages in China has often been highly praised by literary critics. This often involves developing and expanding on the image’s significance and range of associations. I view the Chinese poet’s practices as adding to the beauty of these images, using sophisticated ways of “enriching” or “embellishing” conventional images, while at the same time not sacrificing their conventional cultural associations and literary legacy, the intertextual connection with earlier poetry. The creative use of conventional natural imagery by the female poet Li Qingzhao is the main subject of this study. However, before discussing the image of the chrysanthemum in her poems, some implications of this “cosmic-categoricalcorrespondence-theory” that are relevant for my analysis of her natural imagery have to be explained. These concern the connection between natural imagery and

16 James J.Y. Liu, The Art of Chinese Poetry (Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, [1962] 1983), p. 108. 17 Liu, The Art of Chinese Poetry, p. 115.

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

103

engendered aesthetics in Chinese literary tradition, in particular in the genre of song lyrics called ci poetry, which Li Qingzhao championed. First, I will introduce some of the key concepts or tools used in interpreting natural imagery in pre-modern Chinese poetics.

Key Concepts for Reading Natural Imagery in Pre-Modern Chinese Poetry Many “Western” literary terms were not part of Chinese vocabulary until there were modern translations of these terms and they have no complete equivalent in Chinese, such as, for instance, the term “metaphor.” Literary critics in ancient China developed concepts and terminology suited to the reading of natural imagery in poetry based on a “monistic worldview” and “cosmic/natural correspondences” and in the context of Confucian ideology. In The Art of Chinese Poetry, James Liu described, “The didactic view: Poetry as moral instruction and social comment,”18 as a paradigm in pre-modern Chinese poetics and literary criticism. Statements by Confucius in praise of The Book of Songs as “a means of exerting moral influence and of inspiring emotion,” and “a model of eloquence” and a thesaurus, were, according to Liu, developed into a didactic doctrine, made explicit in “The Great Preface” to The Book of Songs (traditionally attributed to one of Confucius disciples).19 “The Great Preface,” again: Nothing approaches The Book of Poetry in setting up standards of right and wrong, in moving Heaven and Earth, and in appealing to spirits and gods. The ancient kings used it to make permanent the tie between husband and wife, to perfect filial reverence, to deepen human relationships, to beautify moral instruction, and to improve the customs of the people.20

With reference to Confucius’s high esteem for the poems in the The Book of Songs, and the purpose of poetry being a didactic tool, ancient critics thought that these poems must contain deeper moral wisdom and guidance. According to Arthur Waley, only a small amount of the poems in The Book of Songs are didactic, while the large part of the poems, in particular those on marriage and courtship, required 18 Liu, The Art of Chinese Poetry, pp. 64–69. Liu also discusses other views of poetry in this work. 19 For these alleged statements by Confucius in the Analects (Lunyu 論語) in English translation, see Liu, The Art of Chinese Poetry, p. 66. “The Great Preface” was attributed to Confucius pupil Zi Xia 子夏 (507–400 BCE), but Song dynasty scholars attributed it to the Han Dynasty critic Wei Hong 衛宏 (ca. 25–57 CE). 20 “The Great Preface” in translation by Liu, The Art of Chinese Poetry, p. 66.

104

Lena Rydholm

allegorical readings in order to draw a moral.21 “Uncovering” moral instructions in love songs with erotic implications of popular origin from different regions proved to be quite a challenge. This generated more or less far-fetched allegorical readings by pre-modern scholars in terms of historical and political events, partly disregarding the literal meaning of love songs, in order to use these poems for moral instruction. However, as Pauline Yu shows, the reading of imagery in these songs is far more complicated and cannot simply be equated with “Western” allegorical readings. Many of the poems in The Book of Songs begin with a couple of lines describing a natural setting, using only natural imagery, paralleled by a sequence of lines describing actions or events in the human realm (a structural pattern often repeated in subsequent verses). According to Pauline Yu, “The connections between image and meaning were taken for granted from the very beginning, unlike the case in the West.”22 The task of the Confucian commentators was to uncover the embedded moralistic content or social critique by explaining the relationship between the juxtaposed natural images and the circumstances in the human realm, “based on the categorical correlation which is believed to link them.”23 This was not always an easy task, but “The Great Preface” also offers some guidance on the reading of imagery, listing six key concepts,24 of which three, the “exposition” (fu 賦), “comparison” (bi 比), and “stimulus” (xing 興), may be considered to be rhetorical devices, or “techniques,” as Pauline Yu calls them.25 Although the subject of continuous debates, these were applied in the reading of imagery and to explain the relationship between the juxtaposed natural imagery and the human situation, events, emotions or actions. Yu cites the explanation of these terms by Zheng Xuan 鄭玄 (127–200): In an exposition [fu] the words are set out; they display in a straightforward manner the goods and evils of present governmental teachings. With a comparison [bi] one sees a present failing, does not dare to castigate directly, and selects a categorical correspondence

21 Arthur Waley, “Appendix I: The Allegorical Interpretation,” in: The Book of Songs. The Ancient Classic of Poetry, trans. Arthur Waley (New York: Grove Press, [1937] 1960), p. 336. 22 Yu, The Reading of Imagery, p. 44. 23 Yu, The Reading of Imagery, p. 45. 24 “The Six Forms of Art” (liu yi 六藝) in “The Great Preface” are: “airs” (feng 風), “exposition” (fu 賦), “comparison” (bi 比), stimulus” (xing 興), “elegance” (ya 雅) and “hymn”/ “eulogy” (song 頌). For an elaborate discussion of the terms, see Haun Saussy, The Problem of a Chinese Aesthetic (Stanford CA: Stanford University Press, 1993). 25 Yu, The Reading of Imagery, p. 57.

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

105

to speak of it. With a stimulus [xing] one sees a present excellence, disdains flattery, and selects a good situation to encourage it by comparison.26

In addition to being a manner of writing, the “exposition” fu was also the name of the fu genre, with the purpose of representing thoughts and feelings in an explicit, straightforward manner, and in a concrete form, literally to “embody objects” (ti wu 體物).27 Tang dynasty critic Kong Yingda 孔颖達 (574–648) explained the other two concepts: “comparison” and “stimulus”: “A comparison makes a comparison to an object”; anything that says “like/as” (ru 如) is a word that is a comparison […] “A stimulus entrusts a situation to an object,” thus xing means to arouse (qi 起): to select a comparison which draws forth the categorical correspondence and stimulates one’s heart/mind. In the text of the Classic of Poetry, all examples of using plants, trees, birds, and beasts to manifest meaning are words that stimulate.28

To sum up, although, as Yu points out, it would be hard to prove that the authors of the songs in The Book of Songs consciously used these rhetorical devices, “comparison” (bi) and “stimulus” (xing) became key analytical tools for interpreting the natural imagery in The Book of Songs and in other forms of pre-modern poetry. The line between them is not strict, since both rely on similarities or analogies, on “categorical correspondences.” The former is often explained as a kind of simile, marked by words like “compare to” (bi 比) or “to be similar to/seem like” (ru 如, si 似). The latter concept is more complex, referring to the use of natural imagery to “stimulate” conventional analogies, categorical correspondences, but in addition through analogy or association, giving rise to thoughts and/or emotions that are the result of the poet’s emotional response to the external world and its objects. Thus it is connected to the view of a poet as a kind of “cosmological medium,” or mirror of the state of society, thereby also historically bound to time and place but also to the poet’s own life and living circumstances. According to Yu, “the predominant mode of explicating the exposition, comparison, and stimulus focused on what was seen as their shared purpose of political commentary and on the comparative function of the latter two in particular.”29

26 Zheng Xuan 鄭玄, Zhou li zhushu 周禮注疏, in: Shisan jing zhushu 十三經注疏, Vol. I, p. 796, in translation by Yu, The Reading of Imagery, p. 58. 27 Liu Xie 劉勰, Wenxin diaolong 文心雕龍, in: Wenxin diaolong jinyi 文心雕龍今譯, ed. Zhou Zhenfu 周振甫 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, [1986]1998), p. 76. 28 Kong Yingda 孔穎達, Mao shi zheng yi 毛詩正義, in translation by Yu, The Reading of Imagery, pp. 58–59. Kong is quoting and trying to explain Zheng Zhong’s 鄭衆 (fl. 58–76) definitions of these concepts. 29 For examples, see Yu, The Reading of Imagery, p. 57.

106

Lena Rydholm

One example of this, that involves the “categorical correspondence” between “women” and “flowers” (to be discussed in the analysis of Li Qingzhao’s poems), and to which “stimulus” was applied in the interpretation of the natural imagery to evoke political commentaries, is poem No. 6 in The Book of Songs: 桃之夭夭。 灼灼其華。 之子于歸。 宜其室家。

How delicately beautiful is the peach-tree, brilliant are its flowers; this young lady goes to her new home, she will order well her chamber and house.30

The key image of the peach-tree gives rise (qi) to the meaning and emotion of the entire poem. As James Liu pointed out, there is no doubt that that there is an analogy between the blossoming peach-tree and the young bride getting married.31 Thus there is a pre-established categorical correspondence between a peach-tree in bloom and a beautiful young bride (an analogy not lost on Western readers). The relationship between the juxtaposed natural imagery in the initial two lines and the human situation in the subsequent two lines is an instance of “stimulus.” James Liu explains: At the same time, the peach-tree with its blossoms can also be regarded as a simple image describing season. Such imagery, therefore, often has a dual function – describing an immediate object and pointing to an analogy or contrast at the same time.32

The peach-tree in blossom describes a spring scene, and according to Michelle Yeh: “the bride and the peach are associated with spring, the time when mating takes place in nature as well as in the human world [marriages in spring being an ancient custom in the state of Zhou].”33 Reading the natural imagery in this way, Confucian commentators could uncover a moral lesson: “T’ao-yao [this poem] is evidence of the queen’s widespread influence. She was not jealous [of the sovereign in regard to his other wives], and so the relations of men and women became regular. Marriages took place at the appointed season. The country was without

30 This is the first verse of the shi poem “Taoyao” 桃夭, in: Shijing 詩經, ed. Liu Yuqing 劉毓慶 and Li Xi 李蹊 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2011), Vol. shang, p. 17. Translation by Bernhard Karlgren, Book of Odes. Chinese Text, Transcription and Translation (Stockholm, The Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities, [1950] 1974), p. 4. 31 Liu, The Art of Chinese Poetry, p. 107. 32 Liu, The Art of Chinese Poetry, p. 107. 33 Michelle Yeh, “Metaphor and Bi: Western and Chinese Poetics,” Comparative Literature, No. 39 (1987), p. 251, quoted by Saussy, The Problem of a Chinese Aesthetic, p. 110.

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

107

bachelors and old maids.”34 However, commentators often disagreed on the moral content; or which kings and queens the poem referred to; or if it was intended as praise or criticism. Still, according to Yu, there was a “conviction that natural imagery could and did evoke some ‘meaning beyond words’ which was shared by exegete, poet, and the critic alike. They only parted ways in their views of the nature of that meaning.”35 This is in line with a monistic worldview, the cosmic connection between objects of nature and human beings, their actions, thoughts and emotions, through the all-pervasive immanent principle of Dao, Yu: […] no traditional conception of imagery would have assumed that objects and natural phenomena in particular were to be used solely as “pure phenomena,” “things as they are,” for no one would have denied the validity of cosmic correspondences presumed to link all things in a network of associations to be elicited by the poet, however elusively. No matter what their orientation, scholars and critics would have agreed with Fang Hui (1227–1296) that “the profound meaning of the comparison and stimulus is to establish the secret links that hold together all things in the universe.”36

Thus the Western term “metaphor” cannot cover the use of imagery in Chinese literary tradition and the worldview underlying the reading of natural imagery. The concepts of “comparison” and “stimulus,” however difficult it is to clearly define them in Western terms, were applied in the interpretation of natural imagery in pre-modern poetry, and did influence poets through the ages, sharing these assumptions in their literary practice of writing poetry. Thus in my analysis of natural imagery in Li Qingzhao’s poems, I will assume that natural imagery in her poetry has the “dual function” of both having a literal meaning, describing a scene and atmosphere, and embodying thoughts, ideas, ideals, emotion and the like. I will assume that she was well aware of the traditional devices of “comparison” bi and “stimulus” xing, of the conventional interpretations of natural imagery in the context of the human situation, in other words of the “pre-established categorical correspondences” lei. I will analyse her creative use of the conventional image of the chrysanthemum, how she developed, and expanded on this image’s significance and range of associations, modifying the image to suit her purpose. In my view, she did this in order to express a voice of her own, beyond the cultural stereotype of female personas in poetry, equated with “flowers” through preestablished “cosmic” categorical correspondence, as in poem No. 6 in The Book of 34 The commentary (“The Little Preface” Xiaoxu 小序) to the shi poem “Taoyao” in The Book of Songs, quoted and translated by Saussy, The Problem of a Chinese Aesthetic, pp. 110–111. 35 Yu, The Reading of Imagery, p. 217. 36 Yu, The Reading of Imagery, p. 217.

108

Lena Rydholm

Songs (cited above). Hence, a short introduction to these cultural stereotypes and to the engendered aesthetic values, strategies or styles in ci poetry with regard to natural imagery is vital before analysing her poems.

Engendered Aesthetics: Natural Imagery and Styles in Song Lyrics/ci Poetry In pre-modern Chinese poetics and aesthetics, two basic kinds of engendered beauty were distinguished: “the beauty of masculine strength” (yanggang zhi mei 陽剛之美) and “the beauty of feminine softness” (yinrou zhi mei 陰柔之美). These aesthetic models originated in Chinese cosmology and the two complementary forces, Yin and Yang, of the unifying principle Dao. While yang 陽 represents “maleness,” “strength” (gang 剛) and other qualities associated with maleness such as “activity and “light,” yin 陰 represents “femaleness,” “softness” (rou 柔), but also “passivity,” “darkness” and the like. “Cosmic correspondences” linked certain natural imagery with “femaleness” and feminine beauty, such as blossoming flowers, a pale moon, soft winds, images/objects that are perceived of as small, soft, weak, vague or rather passive. In contrast, big mountains, rapid-flowing rivers, large plains and stormy winds were associated with “maleness” and masculine aesthetics. These are objects/images associated with largeness in scope and in vision, clarity, strength, activity and force. A certain scenery entailed, by convention, related imagery. Indoor settings, such as inner chambers and boudoirs including beds, curtains, incense, jewellery, silk clothes, make-up, the small gardens outside a window or a balcony with blossoming or withering flowers. These settings belonged to women’s living space and world, connected with feminine aesthetics. Outdoor scenes and images/objects, such as rivers, mountains, wide plains, horses and weapons, war or hunting scenes, belonged to the world and living space of men, connected with masculine aesthetics. Themes in poetry were also gender marked through these cultural stereotypes. Themes relating to emotions, love and eroticism were associated with femaleness and femininity. For male poets and critics, “love” was the “business” of women, often courtesans or concubines, and part of one’s “private” life. The love theme entailed private boudoir settings and feminine, domesticized imagery. Philosophy, politics, warfare and the like belonged to the world of men, and were “the official business” of men. These themes represented maleness and masculine aesthetics and entailed masculine settings and masculine natural imagery. Styles, schools and entire genres in pre-modern Chinese poetry were gender marked through these cultural stereotypes rooted in cosmology. Distinguishing “masculine” and “feminine” aesthetic styles or strategies in theme, setting and natural imagery

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

109

became a paradigm in Chinese pre-modern literary criticism, especially with regard to the song lyric genre called ci poetry. Li Qingzhao gained her position in literary history mainly through her ci poetry, a genre particularly in vogue during the Song dynasty (960–1279). This genre had developed from song lyrics into popular tunes, sung by (singing) girls and courtesans at banquets and in the entertainment quarters in the cities.37 Most song lyrics performed by the singing courtesans (geji) were love songs, expressing amorous feelings, flirtation, longing, nostalgia, sorrow of parting, and so on, with overt erotic implications. These lyrics described beautiful courtesans in private boudoir settings with domesticized “feminine” objects and natural imagery. Song scholar Shen Yifu 沈義父 (thirteenth century) wrote in an often-cited passage: Writing ci poetry is different from writing shi poetry. Even if both may be about flowers, [when writing a ci poem] one has to include some love and emotion, or at least insert a flavour of the inner chamber.38

With its “feminine” love theme and theme-related “feminine” setting and “feminine” natural imagery, the entire genre was perceived of as “feminine.” As Kang-i Sun Chang has remarked: “The connection between song lyrics and love, or other emotions, is no doubt what makes the tz’u genre ‘feminine’.”39 Deeply embedded in courtesan culture, the genre had low status, initially considered vulgar and immoral by orthodox Confucians. Unlike the shi poetry genre, which was expected to carry moral lessons (as explained in “The Great Preface” cited above), ci poetry was used for entertainment, dealing with “immoral” themes and “unmanly” emotions. Grace Fong: […] the feminized song lyric as the site for the expression of private, “unmanly” (and thus unseemly?) emotions, and of erotic love and passion in particular, seems to have brought out deep unease and called for a moralistic reaction and self-censure in some male poets. […]. In the sexuality of its language and subject matter, the genre was felt to

37 These song lyrics, originally called “lyrics of tunes” (quzici 曲子詞) developed into a poetic form favored by literati poets. As these lyrics gained recognition as a literary genre (not necessarily performed with music), it dropped its “tunes” (quzi 曲子) and was simply called “lyrics” (ci 詞). In this article, I use the term ci poetry to distinguish this poetic genre from earlier forms of shi poetry (also often sung to music, such as the shi poems in The Book of Songs). 38 Shen Yifu, 沈義父, “Yuefu zhimi” 樂府指迷, in: Cihua congbian 詞話叢編, ed. Tang Guizhang 唐圭璋 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1990), Vol. 1, p. 281, in translation by L. Rydholm. 39 Kang-i Sun Chang, “Liu Shih and Hsü Ts’an: Feminine or Feminist,” in: Voices of the Song Lyric in China, ed. Pauline Yu (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), p. 176.

110

Lena Rydholm

have beauty to seduce and power to corrupt, like any temptress. Sexual analogy underlies much of the discourse.40

This, of course, did not discourage male scholar-poets from frequenting the entertainment quarters, engaging in relationships with singing girls and enjoying writing ci poetry, like the popular poet Liu Yong 柳永. These poets also continued a strong legacy from the “Palace-style poetry” of the Liang dynasty (502–587), when male court poets wrote love poems depicting beautiful courtesans and concubines in boudoir settings. Grace Fong: […] at the Liang court, male poets also wrote in a first-person female voice [as in some of the songs in The Book of Songs], but the tendency was to write a description of a woman, to reproduce a female persona external to feminine subjectivity […] these songs indicate a shift from “hearing” the female voice to “seeing” the female image. […] Whether in stasis or in motion-sleeping, sitting, dancing, waiting for her lover, or putting on her makeup – in Palace-style verse the female figure is translated into an erotic object constituted by male gaze and desire. […] In this poetry, the female figure’s surface is valorized while her interiority, when not left opaque, is colonized as the exclusive domain of love and longing. This moment of transformation has profound consequences for the representation of women in Chinese poetry; it constructs the poetic paradigm of a female image subordinated to the gaze and the play of desire.41

Thus the generic “femininity” of ci poetry had little to do with “femaleness”; it was basically a male construction rooted in cosmology, cultural stereotypes and the legacy from Palace-style poetry, in which the female persona, often courtesans, were treated as erotic objects, subjected to the male gaze, male desires and male values. The early ci poet Wen Tingyun 溫庭筠 (812?–866), had his poems collected in the anthology Among the Flowers (Huajian ji 花間集)42 (flowers refer to courtesans). The ci poem by Wen below illustrates my point: a description of the physical appearance of a voiceless female persona, playing on the “cosmic correspondence” between the image of a flower and a woman. 菩薩蠻

To the Tune “Deva-Like Barbarian”

小山重疊金明滅。 鬢雲欲度香顋雪。 賴起畫蛾眉。 弄粧梳洗遲。

The mountains on the screen shimmer in the golden dawn; A cloud of hair brushes the fragrant snow of her cheek. Lazily, she rises and paints mothlike brows; Slowly, tardily, she gets ready for the day.

40 Fong, “Engendering the Lyric,” pp. 109–110. 41 Fong, “Engendering the Lyric,” pp. 112–114. 42 The anthology Among the Flowers (Huajian ji 花間集) was edited by Zhao Chongzuo 趙崇祚 (934–965).

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics 照花前後鏡。 花面交相映。 新帖繡羅襦。 雙雙金鷓鴣。

111

Mirrors, front and behind, reflect a flower, Face and flower shining each upon the other. Stitched in the silk of her bright new coat, Golden-threaded partridges fly pair by pair.43

This love poem depicts a woman subjected to a male gaze and imagination. She is getting dressed and putting on make-up for an expected lover (customer). It’s a boudoir scene with a secluded, private atmosphere and erotic implications. The natural imagery involved, such as the mountains in the first line, are generally associated with masculine aesthetics. In this poem however, they have been “domesticized,” existing only within this bedroom: the “mountains” are small and painted on a screen; the “clouds” flows past the woman’s temples; and the “snow” falls only on her cheek. The birds that “fly pair by pair” on her robe hint at her profession. The flower worn by the female persona in her hair is mirrored by her face and vice-versa. The flower and the courtesan’s face are juxtaposed but connected through “cosmic categorical correspondence.” Under the male gaze in the mirror, they are equally shining, equally beautiful, and the woman’s face and the flower become virtually inseparable. She is no longer a human being with thoughts and emotions, with a voice of her own; she is a silent object of male desire and erotic imagination, just another flower to pick. In time, a “masculine” style also developed in ci poetry. High-ranking officials and poets, like Su Shi 蘇軾 (1037–1101) and Xin Qiji 辛棄疾 (1140–1207), wrote songs with “manly/masculine” themes such as philosophy and politics, set in “manly” settings with “masculine” natural imagery. The difference between the masculine style and the feminine is often illustrated through a famous saying from a Song dynasty record: Su Shi’s songs sounded like “strong men from the Guanxi area beating iron clappers singing ‘big river flows eastwards’”; while the popular poet Liu Yong’s songs were suited only to be sung by “17–18 year-old girls to the beat of ivory castanets singing ‘willows on the beach, soft wind and pale moon’.”44 This “manliness” rooted in cosmology and gender stereotypes became a defining aesthetic quality of the “masculine” style called “heroic abandon” haofang 豪放, 43 Wen Tingyun, 溫庭筠, “Pusa man” 菩薩蠻, in: Huajian ji 花間集, ed. Zhao Chongzuo 趙崇祚 (Zhengzhou: Zhongzhou guji chubanshe, [1990] 1991), p. 1. English translation by Lois Fusek, in: The Columbia Anthology of Traditional Chinese Literature, ed. Victor H. Mair (New York: Columbia Univ. Press, 1994), pp. 305–306. 44 Song dynasty scholar Yu Wenbao’s 俞文豹 famous statement in Chuijian xulu 吹劍 續錄, quoted by Wu Xionghe 吳熊和, Tang Song ci tonglun 唐宋詞通論 (Hangzhou: Zhejiang guji chubanshe, [1989] 1999), p. 207, in translation by L. Rydholm. Su Shi has often been accredited as the initiator of the masculine haofang style.

112

Lena Rydholm

as a counterpart to the “feminine” style called “delicate restraint” wanyue 婉約.45 According to Wang Shizhen 王士禎 (1634–1711), there were two major schools in ci poetry: “the wanyue school with Li Qingzhao as the master, and the haofang school headed by no other than Xin Qiji.”46 The wanyue school was “orthodox,” giving ci poetry its “feminine” generic features, as opposed to shi poetry, which was “masculine” and of higher status. The terms “wanyue” and “haofang” were not used in this respect during the Song dynasty, but the distinction between “feminine” and “masculine” aesthetics in themes, settings and natural imagery is evident in ci poets’ literary practice. In general, just by reading the natural imagery in the first few lines of a ci poem, the reader will form an opinion on the aesthetics employed and distinguishing wanyue from haofang style became a paradigm in criticism of the genre. I will use these terms in my analysis of Li Qingzhao’s poems, thereby referring mainly to a distinction between “feminine” and “masculine” “aesthetic strategies of writing,” manifested in Li Qingzhao’s choice of genre, theme, setting, natural imagery, and in particular, in her choice and particular use of the chrysanthemum.47 Li Qingzhao was labelled the “master” of the wanyue style, and most of her poems are considered to use “feminine” aesthetics. My study will show that the reading of the natural imagery in her ci poems is more complex and defies interpretations based on gender marking of styles and cultural stereotypes. In my view, she used the image of the chrysanthemum creatively, deliberately making use of “cosmic” categorical correspondences while trying to modify its significance and associations in order to express a subjective female voice, beyond gender stereotypes of women as silent flowers in ci poetry. Her choice of the chrysanthemum for this task is, in my view, related to her education, role models and living circumstances, which affected the way she wrote both shi and ci poetry. However, we also have to face the problems arising from certain autobiographical interpretations of her poetry, especially in relation to conflicting views of her marriage. I shall try to deal with these problems in the context of analysing her shi and ci poetry below.

45 These two styles were first distinguished in the Ming dynasty, by Zhang Yan 張綖 (1487–?) in Shiyu tupu 詩餘圖譜, according to Wu, Tang Song ci tonglun, pp. 158–159. 46 Wang Shizhen 王士祯, Huacao mengshi 花草蒙拾, quoted by Wu, Tang Song ci tonglun, p. 158. 47 There are, of course, alternative ways of distinguishing styles in ci poetry. One of the most insightful ways of distinguishing styles is Kang-i Sun Chang’s, discussed in her book The Evolution of Chinese Tz’u Poetry. From Late Tang to Northern Sung (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980).

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

113

First, some basic information about the author’s life, education and role models, with relevance for my own analysis of her poems.

Li Qingzhao’s Male Literary Role Models: Qu Yuan 屈原 and her “masculine” shi Poetry Li Qingzhao was born in Jinan (Shandong) in 1084. Her father Li Gefei 李格非 (ca. 1045–ca. 1105) was a prominent scholar-official at the Imperial University in Bianjing (Kaifeng). Her mother, being from a scholarly family, was well versed in poetry, but died when Li was very young.48 Her father provided her with an education not inferior to that of male students at the time. She studied the Confucian Classics, the Philosophers and the Histories, as evident in the great number of historical allusions in her literary production. Li Gefei once spoke of a father who “had a daughter of whom he could be proud.”49 He was speaking of a famous learned woman of the Eastern Han dynasty (25–202 CE), while clearly referring to his own daughter.50 Li Qingzhao married at the age of eighteen. In the “Afterword” to her husband Zhao Mingcheng’s 趙明誠 Record of Inscriptions on Bronze and Stone (Jinshi lu 金石錄), which she completed after his death, she described their happy married life, especially during the ten years they spent in Qingzhou (when Mingcheng was out of office due to political turmoil). The couple spent time collecting bronze vessels, paintings, rubbings of inscriptions and the like for Mincheng’s Record. Li Qingzhao enjoyed competing with men in matters of learning. In this “Afterword,” she described a game the couple played, trying to remember in which book (even down to details such as which chapter, page and line) a certain event was described. The winner was supposed to drink tea and, being the winner, she claimed to “have burst out laughing until tea splattered the front of my gown.”51 Apart from giving an impression of a happy marriage, her account was probably also intended to show off her high level of education. 48 According to Li Gefei’s biography (“Li Gefei zhuan” 李格非傳) in The History of the Song Dynasty (Songshu 宋書), cited and discussed by Zheng Bijun, “Characteristics of Women’s Lives during the Song Dynasty,” in: Holding Up Half the Sky. Chinese Women Past, Present, and Future, ed. Tao Jie, Zheng Bijun and Shirley L. Mow (New York: Feminist Press at the City University of New York, 2004), p. 18. 49 Qian Qianyi, “Jin shi lei,” quoted by Zheng Bijun, “Characteristics of Women’s Lives,” p. 18. 50 Zheng Bijun, “Characteristics of Women’s Lives,” p. 18. 51 Li Qingzhao, “Afterword to Record of Inscriptions on Bronze and Stone” (“Jinshi lu hou xu” 金石錄後序), in translation by Ronald Egan, The Burden of Female Talent. The Poet Li Qingzhao and Her History in China (Cambridge MA and London: Harvard University

114

Lena Rydholm

She also learned how to write poetry. She was well versed in the poetry of the ancient masters Qu Yuan, Tao Yuanming 陶渊淵 (陶潛), Li Bai 李白 and Du Fu 杜甫, as is also evidenced by frequent allusions to their works in her poetry. According to Song Dynasty critic Wang Zhuo 王灼 (d. 1160), she gained fame as a literary talent at an early age: From her youth she achieved fame for her poetry. In talent, power, and richness, it approximated that of earlier masters. Her level of achievement is not often attained even by educated gentlemen.52

She gained praise for her poetry from scholars in her father’s literary circle, by one of Su Shi’s most prominent students Chao Buzhi 晁補之 (1053–1110).53 Growing up in a home with prominent male scholars/poets, friends of her father’s, visiting and even reading and praising her poetry, it would be natural to adopt their aesthetic values and way of writing, since it gained her recognition among them.54 It would be natural for her to adopt her father’s and his colleagues’ morals and ethics, to identify with their traditional, Confucian civil servant ideal of loyally serving the country, and of using shi poetry for didactic purposes, moral education and social comment. This is evident in her shi poetry, as she often alludes to the ancient statesman/poet Qu Yuan, the paragon of Confucian virtue and patriotism. One of Li Qingzhao’s shi poem stands out in this regard, the “Wu River.” In it she clearly expressed her loyalty to the Northern Song dynasty, using historical allusions. (This poem will also be relevant for my analysis of her ci poems below). In 1126, the Jürchen in the state of Jin invaded the Song capital Bianjing, taking Emperor Huizong and his son Qinzong prisoner. A younger son escaped to the south and proclaimed himself Emperor Gaozong of the Southern Song dynasty. Press, 2013), p. 195. Professor Egan’s excellent book is the most comprehensive study of Li Qingzhao’s life and authorship written in English at present. 52 Wang Zhuo 王灼, “Biji manzhi” 碧雞漫志, in: Cihua congbian 詞話叢編, ed. Tang Guizhang 唐圭璋 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1990), Vol. 1, p. 88. English translation by Egan, The Burden of Female Talent, p. 59. 53 Egan, The Burden of Female Talent, p. 48. 54 As Ronald Egan points out, she wrote about the elevated discussions going on in her father’s literary circles in a poem: This widow’s father and grandfather were born in Qi and Lu, They counted men of renown among their followers. In animated discussions at the Jixia Academy, Perspiration wiped from brows fell like rain, I still can recall.” Li Qingzhao, “Shang shumi Han gong gongbu shangshu Hu gong” 上樞密韓公工部尚 書胡公 quoted and translated by Egan, The Burden of Female Talent, p. 54. Egan also points out that the Jixia Academy “attracted scholars from far and wide and fostered lively debate on philosophical and political issues,” The Burden of Female Talent, p. 54.

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

115

Li Qingzhao and her husband fled to the south to escape the invading forces, bringing what they could of their valuable collections. Li Qingzhao, like many scholar-officials at the time, was deeply critical of Emperor Gaozong’s attempt to sign a peace treaty with Jin rather than to assemble forces and fight to reclaim the north. Li Qingzhao: 烏江

“Wu River”

生當作人傑， 死亦為鬼雄。 至今思項羽， 不肯過江東。

In life one should aspire to be a hero, In death also become a hero among the ghosts. Today we still cherish the memory of Xiang Yu, Who refused to cross the river to the East.55

The first and second lines allude to the poem “To the Martyrs of this Country,” attributed to Qu Yuan (d. 315 BC?). This poem describes how the heroic soldiers and generals in the state of Chu rushed into battle against an overwhelming enemy force, fighting to the bitter end without giving in or failing in loyalty to their country. In Qu Yuan’s poem, the spirits of these heroes, being as strong in life as in death, “became heroes among the ghosts” (為鬼雄),56 the exact words Li then used in the second line of her poem. The exiled minister Qu Yuan allegedly committed ritual suicide in the river Miluo rather than abandon his country, and as a sign of his loyalty. The last two lines of the poem allude to Xiang Yu (232–202 BCE), a general of Chu who also fought with his forces to the last man, and who allegedly also committed ritual suicide rather than cross the river Wu and save himself (abandoning his country). The actions of these ancient heroes stand in stark contrast to the actions of Emperor Gaozong. It makes him look like a coward, crossing the river to save himself, and a traitor, for being disloyal to his father and the Northern Song dynasty. This was no doubt in line with what many patriotic scholars loyal to the Northern Song were discussing at the time. Still, it must be considered bold for a woman to write such a poem. There is no trace whatsoever of “feminine” aesthetics in this poem. It is a “masculine” and “heroic” poem in theme, content, imagery and sentiment. This is consistent with the shi poetry genre being “masculine,” and female poets tended to adopted male aesthetic strategies when writing shi poetry. Grace Fong:

55 Li Qingzhao, “Wujiang” 烏江, in: Li Qingzhao ji jiaozhu 李清照集校註, ed. Wang Zhongwen 王仲聞 (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1999), p. 127. English translation by L. Rydholm. 56 Qu Yuan, “Guoshang” 國殤 in: Chuci quanyi 楚辭全譯, ed. Huang Shouqi 黃壽祺 and Mei Tongsheng 梅桐生 (Guiyang: Guizhou renmin chubanshe, [1984] 1991), p. 52.

116

Lena Rydholm

[…] the “universal” poetics of shih [shi] poetry has all the underlying assumptions of male perspective and orientation. When literary ideology makes no allowance for the insertion of female subjectivity as such, in writing poetry women adopt the rhetoric and voice of subjectivity developed by male poets. This largely accounts for the usual lack of a distinct voice, poetics, or even sensibility that might be gender-based in most shih poems written by women. Women did not, in fact, have a language to write in.57

Li Qingzhao used male role models and aesthetic strategies when writing her shi poetry. But she gained her reputation in literary history through her ci poetry and was labelled the master of the “feminine” wanyue style. However, most ci poets were men, and as stated above, the “feminine” quality of ci poetry had little to do with “femaleness,” being a male construction of women through an erotic gaze. So what happened when an educated gentry-woman like Li Qingzhao wrote ci poetry? Would she adopt male poets’ “feminine” aesthetic strategies and internalize the male gaze, portraying herself as a silent, erotic object? Was it possible for female poets to establish a distinct, subjective female voice in the ci poetry? In the following, I will investigate this issue, first with regard to female literary traditions and the so called “abandoned wife theme” often used by gentry-women, and Li Qingzhao’s choice of “feminine” themes in her ci poetry, along with the problems arising from autobiographical interpretations based on her marriage and relationship to her husband, before analysing her use of the image of the chrysanthemum in her ci poetry.

Female Literary Traditions and the Theme of the “abandonded wife” in ci Poetry It is difficult to distinguish literary traditions among female ci poets during Li Qingzhao’s lifetime. There were female poets belonging to the upper classes writing ci poems besides Li, but little of their poetry was preserved. Song lyrics by courtesans were even less likely to be included in anthologies. Even for the large part of the 78 ci poems attributed Li Qingzhao at some point there are serious authenticity issues, only about 30 ci poems may be considered with some certainty to have been written by Li Qingzhao.58 Five of these ci poems are analysed below.

57 Fong, “Engendering the Lyric,” p. 114. 58 In his excellent study, Ronald Egan divides Li’s poems into four credibility groups (based mainly on date and the reliability of the source in which the attribution first appears); and the first group, with the highest level of credibility, contains only 23 poems found in one contemporary Song dynasty anthology, Zeng Zao’s 曾慥 anthology Yuefu yaci 樂府雅詞 (1146). The second group, which had slightly less credibility than

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

117

Much later, during the Ming-Qing transition in the seventeenth century, ci poetry came into vogue again, especially among female poets and their poems were collected in anthologies by male critics.59 This was due an increase in female literacy, but also the idea that the “feminine” quality of the ci genre made it suitable for women to write in.60 Grace Fong: […] the ideal program of a song lyric of the mainstream feminine wan-yüeh style was to articulate subtle and elusive moods, perceptions, and states of feeling and emotion by means of feminized, “domesticated” imagery and diction. The song lyric was identified with ch’ing, with the evocation of mood and the figuration of emotion; cultural stereotyping also equated women with emotion. Through this common denominator the song lyric thus came to be seen in the poetic tradition [especially in the Ming-Qing transition] as offering women a “natural” mode of expression.61

According to Fong, however, this “naturalness may simply mean the availability of male-constructed female modality that women can internalize.”62 Female poets did to some extent make use of male ci poets’ aesthetic strategies as role models; however, in her brilliant study, Kang-i Sun Chang distinguishes between a “courtesan tradition” and a “gentry-woman tradition” in the seventeenth century. Unlike the Song courtesans, who performed song lyrics written by male ci poets, courtesans during the seventeenth century were praised for writing these song lyrics.63 Courtesans could freely express feelings of passion, love and longing,64 stretching the feminine wanyue aesthetics to the limit with regard to theme, setting and domesticized imagery, while adding a first-person female voice to their poems. In contrast, gentry-women’s education in the seventeenth century was much more restricted than that of courtesans, limited to a set of classical works for respectable women to study on morality and how to serve their husband and his family. It would not be proper for gentry-women to explicitly express love

59 60 61 62 63 64

the first, but could still be considered authentic, contains seven poems attributed to Li Qingzhao mainly in Southern Song dynasty anthologies. Egan, The Burden of Female Talent, p. 103. Chang, “Liu Shih and Hsü Ts’an,” pp. 169–172. Chang, “Liu Shih and Hsü Ts’an,” pp. 172–177. Fong, “Engendering the Lyric,” p. 121. Fong, “Engendering the Lyric,” p. 114. Chang, “Liu Shih and Hsü Ts’an,” p. 174. For instance, those of the famous courtesan and poet Liu Shi 柳是 (1618–1664) written to her lover Chen Zilong 陳子龍, see Chang, “Liu Shih and Hsü Ts’an,” pp. 172–177.

118

Lena Rydholm

and passion in the same way as the courtesans.65 The main theme open to “gentry women-poets” (Kang-i Sun Chang’s translation of “poets of the inner chamber” guige shiren 閨閣詩人) was that of the “abandoned wife,” whether this was because her husband had acquired a concubine, was away on state business or had died. The “abandoned wife” theme, as Kang-I Sun Chang points out, can be traced back to influential male poets writing in an allegorical voice: […] since the time of Ch’ü Yüan [Qu Yuan] (d. 315 B.C.?) and Ts’ao Chih [Cao Zhi] (192–232), the Chinese poet, when demoted or exiled, had been accustomed to speak through the female voice of the “abandoned wife” (ch’i-fu [qifu]), intending the words to be read as political allegory. In fact the whole theme of the “abandoned wife” in Chinese poetry can be said to have been made popular by male poets.66

Allegedly, the loyal minister Qu Yuan lost the King’s favour through vicious slander and was banished. His long narrative poem “Encountering Sorrow” (“Lisao” 離騷), a poem highly relevant to my analysis of Li Qingzhao’s poems, is usually interpreted autobiographically, drawing on both Confucianism and shamanistic practices in Chu. The persona expresses his loyalty to the ruler and devotion to preserve his own virtue and mourns the fate of his country at the hands of corrupt statesmen. He frequently alludes to legendary kings. He warns against evil deeds like those of the Kings Jie and Zhou, which ended in calamity, and upholds the good examples such as the rulers of the Zhou dynasty for: “Raising up the virtuous and able men to government, […] High God in Heaven knows no partiality; He looks for the virtuous and makes them his ministers.”67 In part of this poem, the persona makes a cosmic journey, reminiscent of shamanistic rituals, in which the poet appears to be speaking in an allegorical female voice, a female persona who has lost the favour of her loved one (the King) due to jealous rivals. The gentry-women of the Ming-Qing transition, made full use of the “abandoned wife” theme open to them when writing ci poetry, and of the wanyue aesthetics associated with the genre, but with one major difference: unlike Qu Yuan, they did not use an allegorical voice. Kang-i Sun Chang: […] the “abandoned wife” poems of women guided by personal experience and female sensitivity added a new dimension to Chinese poetry—they are concrete, confessional,

65 For instance, the gentry-woman poet Xu Can 徐燦 (1610?-1677?), Ming loyalist and poet discussed in Kang-i Sun Chang’s “Liu Shih and Hsü Ts’an,” pp. 177–185. 66 Chang,“Liu Shih and Hsü Ts’an,” pp. 179–180. 67 Qu Yuan, “Lisao” 離騷, trans. David Hawkes, in: Anthology of Chinese Literature. [Vol. 1] From Early Times to the Fourteenth Century, ed. Cyril Birch (New York: Grove, 1965), p. 56.

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

119

and often filled with realistic detail. Most important, they spoke in a language of their own, a true rather than an allegorical voice. In tz’u poetry in particular, we find women poets like Li Ch’ing-chao writing out their lives, creating a wonderful poetic fusion of convention and originality, of the female and male traditions.68

Sun Chang distinguished between a “courtesan-tradition” and a “gentry-women tradition” in ci poets in the seventeenth century, but it is reasonable to assume that there were similar restrictions for gentry-women writing poetry during the Song dynasty. Being a gentry-woman, Li Qingzhao was not expected to write expressively about sex and passion but rather to use the “abandoned wife theme.” When Li Qingzhao wrote in a poem about the “reluctance to comb her hair,” as Kang-i Sun Chang pointed out, it was taken as an expression of devotion and fidelity while her husband was away.69 Even so, Li was criticized by male scholars such as Wang Zhuo (d. 1160) for “using at will the dissolute language of vulgar neighbourhoods [entertainment quarters]” and who further stated that “there has never been a woman with literary talent from a good gentry family as unscrupulous as she was.”70 (Grace Fong points out that although Wang Zhuo lists several examples of erotic poems by other poets, he is unable to produce a single example of Li Qingzhao’s vulgar language or immoral content).71

Was Li Qingzhao an Abandoned Wife? And does it Matter if she was? Problems Related to Autobiographical Interpretations of Li Qingzhao’s Poetry Autobiographical interpretation in pre-modern Chinese poetry is a general rule and this applies to Li Qingzhao’s poetry as well, but the interpretations and evaluations have varied greatly, due partly to the amount of biographical data available and also to contemporary cultural and moral norms for women. Professor Egan has contributed to the research on Li Qingzhao in this regard, showing how the image of Li Qingzhao as a person and as a writer changed through the ages. An academic squabble about whether she remarried after Zhao Mingcheng’s death

68 Chang, “Liu Shih and Hsü Ts’an,” p. 180. 69 Chang, “Liu Shih and Hsü Ts’an,” pp. 180–181. 70 Wang Zhuo, Biji manzhi, in: Cihua Congbian, Vol. 1, p. 88. English translation by Fong, “Engendering the Lyric,” p. 119. 71 There are some poems attributed to Li Qingzhao that have strong erotic implications, but these were attributed to her centuries after her death and the credibility of their attribution is among the lowest in Egan’s study in The Burden of Female Talent.

120

Lena Rydholm

or not, which had a strong impact on the reception of her poetry, arose in the Ming-Qing period, as Egan explains: tolerance for remarriage by widows diminished, as the state-sponsored cult of “widow’s chastity” gained ground. […] by the late Ming times critics begin to express dismay that such an exceptionally talented woman poet could have violated womanly virtue by marrying again after she was widowed. […] A peculiar scholarly campaign was undertaken to purify or vindicate Li Qingzhao from what were said to be slanderous Song dynasty reports that she had remarried. A newly reformulated Li Qingzhao as a virtuous widow devoted to the memory of Zhao Mingcheng emerged from this campaign by the late Qing period.72

Today, however, most scholars accept that Li Qingzhao remarried, based on credible sources and a letter by Li Qingzhao. In this letter, she describes how after her husband’s death, a Zhang Ruzhou tricked her brother (who she was staying with), kidnapped her, and forced her into marriage73 (possibly to get his hands on her valuable antiquities). According to the letter, he physically abused her to the point of her fearing for her life.74 She managed to divorce him and sued him in court for corruption. She won the case, but with a legal system grounded in Confucian morals, a wife accusing her husband (superior) was committing a moral crime, so she was sentenced to jail for a hundred days. Qi Chongli 綦崈禮 managed to effect her release after nine days, so she wrote this letter to thank him.75 As Egan points out, it was after these events that she finished her husband’s Record, and wrote the “Afterword” about her happy marriage with Zhao Mingcheng. In Egan’s view, the “Afterword” was in part Li Qingzhao’s attempt to repair the damage to her reputation caused by her second marriage and scandalous divorce.76 When modern scholars had accepted that Li Qingzhao remarried, some of them began to question the relationship between Zhao and Li. As Egan points out, since they had formerly been the ideal couple in literary history, her poems had been interpreted as longings for Mingcheng while he was away (such as the poem to the tune “Drunk in the Shade of Flowers” analysed below). Poems expressing deep despair (the poem to the tune “A Long Melancholy Tune” analysed below) 72 Egan, The Burden of Female Talent, p. 5. 73 There is a translation of Li Qingzhao’s “A Letter Submitted to Hanlin Academician Qi Chongli” (“Tou neihan Qi gong qi” 投内翰綦公啟) by Ronald Egan in The Burden of Female Talent, pp. 147–150, based on the letter included in Xu Peijun’s 徐培均 in Li Qingzhao ji jianzhu 李清照集箋注 (Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2009). 74 Egan, The Burden of Female Talent, p. 148. 75 Egan, The Burden of Female Talent, p. 148. 76 Egan, The Burden of Female Talent, p. 191.

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

121

were interpreted as lamenting his death. Scholars now pointed to the fact that Li Qingzhao had no children. A man during the Song dynasty would have taken a concubine, since not producing offspring would be a moral offence against one’s parents according to Confucian standards.77 Some scholars have recently found historical sources indicating that Zhao Mingcheng had sons.78 These biographical data again changed the interpretations of Li Qingzhao’s poems. Several poems previously thought to express her longing for Mingcheng or mourning after his death, now instead became “literal” abandoned wife theme laments over Mingcheng taking a concubine; some poems were interpreted as her attempts to win him back79 (such as the poem “Abundant Beauty” analysed below). Egan has shown that “the habit of reading Li Qingzhao’s song lyrics autobiographically, as if they could be nothing other than simple first-person statements that reflect her personal circumstances,”80 is problematic with regard to changes in her biography and the social norms for women. Being a woman, she was expected to express a true, female voice in “abandoned wife” poems, not an allegorical voice, as in the poems by exiled scholars such as Qu Yuan. Being a woman, critics might also perceive her voice as more “authentic” and representative of genuine “femaleness,” rather than a constructed “femininity.” Such ideas probably contributed to the impression of “genuine” emotions in her ci,81 which in turn may have contributed to ideas of her being labelled the master of the wanyue style. However, she did master the genre. She was the first poet to formulate a complete theory of ci poetry and claim it to be a genre of its own. In her “Theory of Ci Poetry” (“Cilun” 詞論) she describes the genre’s historical development and close relationship to music, and criticizes many prominent male poets for not understanding the genre properly and committing all kinds of mistakes in writing ci poetry. Her conclusion is phrased in the famous words: “That’s how we know that ci poetry is a school of its own, there are few people who truly understand

77 Egan, The Burden of Female Talent, pp. 308–309. 78 Egan, The Burden of Female Talent, pp. 320–321. 79 For an overview of and new interpretations of such poems, see Ronald Egan, Appendix 2: “Recent interpretations of particular poems on the concubine issue,” Egan, The Burden of Female Talent. 80 Egan, The Burden of Female Talent, p. 4. 81 For a discussion of the “genuine” as a value in ci poetry, see Stephen Owen, “Meaning of the Words: The Genuine as a Value in the Tradition of the Song Lyric,” in: Voices of the Song Lyric in China, pp. 30–69.

122

Lena Rydholm

this.” (乃知别是一家, 知之者少).82 She obviously believed herself to be one of those few. Being a gentry-woman, it would be hard for her to accommodate to male ci poets’ way of writing love poetry, with female personas/courtesans described as silent erotic objects under a male gaze, regardless of whether she remarried or not, or whether her husband had a concubine or not. As my analysis of her ci poetry will show, she continued to identify herself/her persona rather with Qu Yuan and other virtuous Confucian statesmen than with contemporary courtesans in the male ci poets’ world. This is evident in her use of the chrysanthemum, as discussed in the following analysis of her ci poems.

Li Qingzhao’s ci Poetry and the Categorical Correspondences of the Chrysanthemum In my reading of the natural imagery in Li Qingzhao’s ci poems, I will avoid interpretations based on her relationship to her husband. I will try to make use of only biographical data that is corroborated by intertextual and/or intratextual evidence within her literary works. The biographical data I will rely on is that she was well educated and had benefited from the literary practices and Confucian scholar-official moral values in her father’s literary circle. I will also rely on the fact that she migrated to the south but stayed deeply loyal to the Northern Song, as can be seen in the allusions to Qu Yuan and Xiang Yu in her shi poem “Wu River” (cited above). To explain in what way Li Qingzhao’s use of the chrysanthemum in ci poetry was creative, we must first return to Qu Yuan’s use of this image in his poem “Encountering Sorrow,” to establish what the chrysanthemum originally signified, and was assumed to be “categorically corresponding” to by nature/cosmic order. In The Art of Chinese Poetry, James Liu provided an account of the significance of the image of the chrysanthemum. What Pauline Yu termed “categorical correspondence,” Liu in 1966 discussed as a case of “symbolic use” of “compound images.” James Liu: […] various images […] are used to depict the present scene […] At the same time, some of the images are also symbolic […] Thus, imagery and symbolism are imperceptibly blended, and a dual purpose is fulfilled by them: to describe an external scene and reveal an inner emotional experience. Since imagery and symbolism are often combined, the criteria suggested earlier for judging the merits of imagery can also be applied to symbolism. […] In the case of conventional symbols [/images], we should consider how the poet

82 Li Qingzhao, “Cilun,” in: Li Qingzhao ji jiaozhu, p. 195. Translation by L. Rydholm.

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

123

has reaffirmed, developed, modified or changed their significance. Just as poets can use conventional imagery without piling up clichés, so can they use conventional symbols with varying implications and associations so as to avoid stereotyped repetition.83

Qu Yuan made frequent use of flowers and herbs in “Encountering Sorrow.”84 James Liu uses the chrysanthemum as an example of a “compound image” carrying symbolic meaning and quotes two lines from “Encountering Sorrow,” which he claims are the earliest use of the chrysanthemum as a symbol of certain personal qualities: “In the morning I drink the dew drops from the magnolia. In evening I eat the fallen petals of the autumn chrysanthemum.”85 In these lines, according to Liu, the chrysanthemum is: “a symbol of purity and moral integrity. It may further symbolize longevity, as in the preceding lines the poet has expressed his apprehension of the coming of old age.”86 This reading appears to be based on an autobiographical interpretation of the poem, Qu Yuan being seen as the paragon of moral integrity. But to fully make sense of Liu’s interpretation, we need intratextual evidence; these lines require a context, the juxtaposed human situation in the following lines of Qu Yuan’s poem (left out by Liu): 朝饮木蘭之墜露兮， In the mornings I drank the dew that fell from the magnolia: 夕餐秋菊之落英。 At evening ate the petals that dropped from chrysanthemums. 苟余情其信姱以練要兮， If only my mind can be truly beautiful, 長顑頷亦何傷。 It matters nothing that I often faint for famine.87

The two lines quoted by James Liu are juxtaposed to two lines disclosing the human situation, reminiscent of the rhetorical device of “stimulus” xing of The Book of Songs. Since the persona of these lines is cultivating his virtue, even to the point of starving, critics connect the long, lasting fragrance of this flower with the cultivation of the everlasting virtue of the persona/poet, both with regard to intratextual and extratextual factors. The chrysanthemum was consequently read as a “symbol” (Liu’s terminology) of virtue and moral integrity and was associated with loyal and virtuous officials in general, and Qu Yuan in particular.

83 Liu, The Art of Chinese Poetry, p. 128. 84 Qu Yuan, “Lisao,” in Chuci quanyi, pp. 1–30, Qu Yuan used natural images in several ways, ranging from simple description of scenery to allegory. For a detailed analysis of the imagery in Qu Yuan’s works, see Yu, The Reading of Imagery, pp. 88–100. 85 Liu, The Art of Chinese Poetry, p. 128. 86 Liu, The Art of Chinese Poetry, pp. 128–129. 87 Qu Yuan, “Lisao,” p. 7. English translation by Hawkes, in: Anthology of Chinese Literature, p. 53.

124

Lena Rydholm

The “categorical correspondence” (Pauline Yu’s term), between the fragrant and resilient chrysanthemum and virtue and moral integrity was evoked by several poets through the ages. The chrysanthemum then functions as a compound image, as part of the description of scenery (often autumn scenery), while at the same time “stimulating” thoughts of purity, virtue and moral integrity, in addition to, alluding to Qu Yuan’s life, moral ambitions and his works. However, according to Liu, “a conventional symbol can be modified in its significance and emotional associations by its context.”88 I will attempt to show that Li Qingzhao did this in her creative use of the chrysanthemum. But first, let us consider some examples of the use of the chrysanthemum after Qu Yuan, discussed by James Liu, for comparison. The poet Tao Yuanming (365–427), famous for his “Fields and garden poetry,” was a civil servant who, fed up with the corruption at court, refused to compromise with his own principles and retired from office to lead a secluded life as a farmer. Tao’s frequent use of the chrysanthemum in poems made people associate the flower with him as a person; hence it was called “the hermit of flowers.”89 Tao’s “Poems After Drinking Wine (No. 5)”90 can exemplify Liu’s interpretation. 饮酒二十首(其五) “Poems After Drinking Wine (No. 5)” 结庐在人境, 而無車馬喧。 問君何能爾， 心遠地自偏。 採菊東籬下， 悠然見南山。 山氣日夕佳， 飛鳥相與還。 此中有真意, 欲辩已忘言。

I built my hut beside a traveled road Yet hear no noise of passing carts and horses. You would like to know how it is done? With the mind detached, one’s place becomes remote. Picking chrysanthemums by the eastern hedge I catch sight of the distant southern hills: The mountain air is lovely as the sun sets And flocks of flying birds return together. In these things is a fundamental truth I would like to tell, but lack the words.91

88 Liu, The Art of Chinese Poetry, p. 130. 89 A statement by Zhou Dunyi 周敦颐, James Liu, The Art of Chinese Poetry p. 129. 90 I do not use the same poem by Tao Yuanming that James Liu discussed in this context in The Art of Chinese Poetry, but this poem by Tao has the exact same implications with regard to the image of the chrysanthemum. I use this poem because Li Qingzhao often alludes to it in her ci poems on chrysanthemums (discussed below). 91 Tao Yuanming 陶淵明, “Yin jiu” 饮酒, in: Han Wei Liuchao shi jianshang cidian 漢魏 六朝詩鑒賞辭典, ed. Wu Xiaoru 吳小如 et al. (Shanghai: Shanghai cishu chubanshe, [1992] 2004), p. 553. English translation by James R. Hightower, in: The Columbia Anthology of Traditional Chinese Literature, pp. 180–181.

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

125

As James Liu explains, Tao retains the chrysanthemum’s original significance of moral integrity from Qu Yuan’s poem while adding a dimension: the significance and implications of a peaceful and secluded life-style.92 Thus critics rely on both biographical data and the context of this image in his poems for this reading. So, what happened with the fundamental “cosmic” correspondence between “women” and “flowers” established already in The Book of Songs discussed above? It is still valid, though it is rather a question of how the image is used. James Liu cites two lines in a poem by Emperor Wu of the Han dynasty to illustrate the connection between chrysanthemums and women: 秋風辭

“Song of the Autumn Wind”

蘭有秀兮菊有芳， B  ut the orchids retain their beauty, the chrysanthemums their fragrance yet: 懷佳人兮不能忘。 How they remind me of the lovely lady whom I cannot forget!93

According to James Liu: “in spite of the verbal echoes” of the earlier poem by Qu Yuan: the symbolic value of the chrysanthemum is now quite different: it represents feminine beauty here rather than moral integrity. It can also be associated with the idea of longevity, as the song expresses fear of old age and laments the passing of time.94

In this poem, the context is different, and the juxtaposing of natural imagery in the initial line with the situation in the human realm is reminiscent of the poem with the peach-blossom tree in The Book of Songs (discussed above). The categorical correspondence between chrysanthemums and the juxtaposed “lovely lady” relies on analogy, on the rhetorical device “stimulus” xing. Recalling the discussion about wanyue and haofang aesthetic strategies above, we see that there is a conflict when it comes to the use of the image of the chrysanthemum. Women are by cosmic correspondence connected to flowers and to love, but women can not categorically correspond to moral integrity and political ambitions. Moral integrity is a property connected to the official life of men. So when Li Qingzhao uses the chrysanthemum, being a woman, will she inevitably identify with the flower and with amorous feelings through “cosmic” correspondence? Or can she use this flower in a way beyond love, feminine beauty and the male gaze? James Liu (in contrast to me) opts for the former, citing two famous examples from Li’s 92 Liu, The Art of Chinese Poetry, p. 129. 93 Liu Che 刘徹, “Qiufeng ci” 秋風辭, in: Han Wei Liuchao shi jianshang cidian, p. 11. English translation by Liu, The Art of Chinese Poetry, p. 129. 94 Liu, The Art of Chinese Poetry, p. 129.

126

Lena Rydholm

ci poems and claiming that: “In contrast [to Qu and Tao], the poet Li Ch’ing-chao [Li Qingzhao] uses this flower to symbolize wasted youth and faded beauty.”95 Liu’s examples (a few lines from two ci poems by Li Qingzhao that I will analyse in the following): 聲聲慢

To the tune “A Long Melancholy Tune”

满地黄花堆積, All over the ground are heaps of yellow flowers: 憔悴損， Ravaged, haggard, worn. 如今有誰忺摘。 Who will pluck them now?96 醉花陰

To the tune “Drunk in the Shade of Flowers”

簾捲西風， 人比黄花瘦。

As the curtain rolls up the west wind, One is growing thinner than the yellow flowers [chrysanthemums].97

James Liu’s interpretation can be argued for several reasons, extratextual, biographical, intertextual and intratextual, each one of them strong enough to argue a case. Firstly, critics will consider the cosmic correspondences between women and flowers in poetry in general, and in the ci poetry genre in particular (as in Wen Tingyun’s poem to the tune “Deva-Like Barbarian” cited above). Secondly, they will consider the feminine wanyue aesthetic strategy in ci poetry and its “feminine” imagery, setting and theme along with the fact that Li Qinghao was labelled the master of the wanyue school. Thus she “must” be using wanyue asthetic strategies to write about love and longing. Thirdly, her poems are interpreted autobiographically, and as a gentry-woman she is expected to use the “abandoned wife theme” and in her own true voice express devotion to her husband Mingcheng. Fourthly, most critics will connect the flower with the female persona and thus with Li Qingzhao herself by what seems to be intratextual evidence. In the line “One is growing thinner than the yellow flowers” (the second example), the flower and the persona are clearly compared, the analogy marked with “compare to” (bi 比), thus also using simile, the rhetorical device of “comparison” (bi 比). This stimulates a reading implying a cosmic correspondence between the female persona and withering chrysanthemums. Most critics have read these two poems as

95 Liu, The Art of Chinese Poetry, p. 129. 96 Li Qingzhao, “Shengsheng man” 聲聲慢 in: Li Qingzhao ji jiaozhu, p. 65. English translation by Liu, The Art of Chinese Poetry, p. 129. 97 Li Qingzhao, “Zuihua yin” 醉花陰, in: Li Qingzhao ji jiaozhu, p. 35, but modified by using the character 比 instead of 似 in the second line cited by Liu, in order to fit with Liu’s English translation of this poem in The Art of Chinese Poetry, p. 130. The choice of character is significant and this issue is further discussed in footnote 113.

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

127

“abandoned wife poems”: Li Qingzhao expressing her devotion for her husband. In the second example, she is presumably expressing her longing for him while he is away. The first example, being more melancholy, presumably expresses mourning after his death, adding the flavour of being a widow and refugee in southern China, making the longing and sorrow even more profound. In both the examples cited by James Liu above, the withering chrysanthemum has lost any connection with its significance of virtue, moral integrity and a secluded life. In James Liu’s reading, Li Qingzhao is developing the significance of this image/symbol with reference to ageing (a concern also evident in the male poets’ poems) to involve the loss of her own beauty (a concern evidently not expected to be shared by Qu Yuan and Tao Yuanming). When reading male poets’ poems, the flower obviously refers to inner qualities; when reading female poets poems, in contrast, it applies only to physical appearance. I disagree with James Liu that the chrysanthemum simply signifies her “wasted youth and fading beauty.” Liu’s readings are based on a few lines in these poems, taken out of context and with no recognition of Li Qingzhao’s frequent allusions to Qu Yuan and Tao Yuanming in both her shi and ci poems, and especially in the context of the chrysanthemum. Let us consider some ci poems written by Li Qingzhao including the image of the chrysanthemum, and then return to Liu’s two examples, in the context of the entire poems.

“Moral integrity” and the Image of the Chrysanthemum in Li Qingzhao’s ci Poetry Li Qingzhao wrote a ci poem to the tune “Abundant Beauty,” subtitled “Ode to the White Chrysanthemum.” Writing an ode to an object and giving it human attributes was not uncommon. Through personification, the object can be used to boost one’s own, or eulogise someone else’s, personal qualities and moral ideals. In view of the cosmic correspondences, a female poet’s flower image would be read as her alter ego. In the ci genre, it would be placed within feminine aesthetics with regard to theme, setting and imagery, which Li Qingzhao mastered. She must have known that the poem would be interpreted autobiographically, so in choosing the chrysanthemum as an alter ego, as opposed to any another flower, in my view she sends a signal that the poet wants to be associated with the inner qualities associated with the chrysanthemum, that is, virtue and moral integrity. (At least, it is not the best choice of a flower for an alter ego if one wants to be equated with a courtesan viewed through a male erotic gaze, as in ci poems by male poets). Li Qingzhao’s poem is very different from the poem with the courtesan and the flower in the mirror by Wen Tingyun cited above. Li:

128

Lena Rydholm

多麗 詠白菊

To the tune “Abundant Beauty” “Ode to the White Chrysanthemum”

小樓寒， 夜長簾幕低垂。 恨蕭蕭, 無情風雨， 夜来揉損琼瓊肌。 也不似, 貴妃醉臉， 也不似, 孫壽愁眉。 韓令偷香, 徐娘傅粉, 莫將比擬未新奇。 細看取， 屈平陶令, 風韻正相宜。 微風起， 清芬醖藉, 不減酴釄。

The small pavilion is chilly, drapes hung down through the endless night. I hate the soughs and sighs, of the heartless wind and rain, bruising its jade-white limbs in the night. It is nothing like: Guifei’s drunken face. It is nothing like: Sun Shou sadly knitting her eyebrows; Jia Wu stealing imperial incense; Lady Xu powdering her face. Do not compare them, they are no match to it in exquisite beauty. When observing it closely I find, only Qu Yuan and Tao Yuanming, equal its graceful posture. A slight breeze rises, bringing its pure fragrance, not inferior to the briar rose.

漸秋阑, 雪清玉瘦， 向人無限依依。 似愁凝, 漢皋解佩， 似淚洒, 紈扇題詩。 朗月清風， 濃煙暗雨， 天教憔悴度芳姿。 縱愛惜， 不知從此， 留得幾多時。 人情好, 何须更憶, 澤畔東籬。

As autumn fades away, white as snow and spotless as jade, it leans toward us, endlessly reluctant to part. It seems like its sorrow deepens, untying the pendant on Mount Hangao. It seems like its tears are flowing, inscribing a poem on a silk fan. Bright moonlight and gentle breeze, or heavy mist and dark rain, Heaven commands the time of withering and loss of fragrance. Even if we cherish it, we do not to know, from now on, how long we may keep it. If we truly treasure it, why the need to remember anymore, the riverbank and the eastern hedge?98

98 “Li Qingzhao, “Duoli” 多麗, in: Li Qingzhao ji jiaozhu, p. 11 and Quan Songci 全宋詞, ed. Tang Guizhang 唐圭璋 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1990), Vol. 2, p. 927. English translation by L. Rydholm.

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

129

In Wen Tingyun’s poem to the tune “Deva-Like Barbarian” there is simply a description of external appearance. It plays on the correspondence between a beautiful flower and a courtesan, seen through a male gaze; in the mirror, they become inseparable. The woman’s value lies in her external appearance; her personal qualities are unknown, she is merely an object of desire. Li Qingzhao’s poem about the chrysanthemum, on the other hand, focuses on the chrysanthemum/ persona’s inner qualities. Li’s poem is crammed with historical allusions, just like Qu Yuan’s “Encountering Sorrow,” but most of Li’s allusions refer to women in history, not kings or ministers. She starts by alluding to four historical “beauties,” but they are used as negative examples. Li is actually deconstructing the male gaze, showing how worthless the male gaze is in evaluating the true characters of women through external appearance. The chrysanthemum/persona of the poem “is nothing like” (ye bu si 也不 似) these four famous beauties alluded to, so “Do not compare them, they are no match…” (mo jiang bini 莫將比擬) with the chrysanthemum. Firstly, she alludes to the “drunken face” of Yang Guifei, the favourite concubine of Emperor Xuanzong, a famous beauty blamed for causing havoc to the Tang dynasty (the Emperor spending time with her instead of ruling the country). Allegedly, the Emperor once claimed that Yang Guifei’s flushed face after drinking wine was as beautiful as a peony.99 Secondly, she alludes to the coquettish manners of Han dynasty beauty Sun Shou, the wife of a Liang He. Allegedly, Sun Shou was a poser, knitting her eyebrows and using eye make-up to make it look as though she had been crying, to arouse sympathy and tender emotions in male viewers.100 Thirdly, the stealing of incense refers to Jia Wu, who allegedly, while having a secret premarital love affair, stole precious incense (her father’s gift from Emperor Wu of Jin), and gave it to her lover, but the rare scent betrayed them.101 To conclude the negative examples, there is Lady Xu, concubine of the one-eyed Emperor Yuan of the Liang dynasty. Allegedly, she was a jealous woman who put on make-up on only half her face to infuriate her husband and get back at him for having affairs, while still having love affairs herself.102 These four historical women were all 99

A peony in a poem by Li Zhengfeng 李正封 according to Chen Zumei 陳祖美, ed. Li Qingzhao shi ci xuan 李清照詩詞選 (Jinan: Shandong daxue chubanshe, 1999), p. 40. 100 Chen, Li Qingzhao shi ci xuan, p. 40. 101 Chen, Li Qingzhao shi ci xuan p. 40. 102 Allegedly, Lady Xu and the Emperor had a bad marriage, and she constantly tried to get back at him after losing his favor, even being suspected of causing the death of her rival, her husband’s pregnant favorite concubine. She was ultimately forced to

130

Lena Rydholm

famous for their beauty, but are used by Li Qingzhao in this poem to exemplify all kinds of vulgar and immoral behaviour, being insincere, jealous, and unfaithful and so on. They are women who will stoop to any level to manipulate and please men, while their emotions are as false as their beauty, since they lack inner beauty. The chrysanthemum/persona “is nothing like” (using simile, the rhetorical device bi 比) these four women with vulgar appearance and immoral behaviour. Its beauty is the antithesis of this, it is thus of a pure, natural kind. Virtuous in its behaviour, it seeks not to please. It is loyal and faithful, and its emotions are genuine. Its beauty lies foremost in its inner qualities. Who then will Li use as a “good example” of these personal qualities, a historical person that the chrysanthemum can be identified with and actually “be like”? The answer is given in the final lines of the first stanza: “When observing it closely I find, only Qu Yan and Tao Yuanming, equal its graceful posture.” The chrysanthemum aspires to possess the inner qualities of these statesmen/poets, that is, the virtue and moral integrity of poets who lead a secluded life, unwilling to participate in corruption and deeply loyal to their country. Thus, the virtues associated with the chrysanthemum when used by these male sage poets should apply to the flower/female persona of this poem as well and hence to the poet herself, her own ideals and ambitions. She identifies with her male role models, not with the silent flowers in ci poems by men. Li Qingzhao knew that the poem would be read autobiographically and thus made it perfectly clear that she did not want to be associated with concubines/ courtesans, nor did she want to be evaluated according to her physical attributes. Finally, we have an answer to the question posed above, of whether Li would internalize the male gaze and “become” one of the flowers/courtesans that inhabit the worlds in male poets’ ci poems. She “is nothing like that.” She is a female poet with moral integrity and the ability to express her ideals in poetry equal to the most elevated male poets and paragons of Confucian virtue. She obviously aspired to gain recognition of her inner personal qualities, as a poet and as a person, her moral integrity and loyalty. Loyalty to whom? To her husband? She is not speaking commit suicide. The implications of this allusion divide critics. In their explanations, some refer to the half face make-up story, and some add the illicit affairs, while others seem to view Lady Xu’s behavior as so alien to anything Li Qingzhao would write, that they claim that Li Qingzhao got the whole thing wrong. It is, they claim, a case of mistaken identity: Li Qingzhao refers to Helang, who used too much powder on her face. This last explanation of mistaken identity seems highly unlikely considering Li’s high level of education and good memory (see for instance her “Afterword” to her husband’s Record discussed above).

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

131

in a male voice, alluding to these statesmen’s loyalty to their King in order to express her loyalty to her husband (reversing the literary tradition among banished officials speaking in the voice of a shunned concubine with relation to the King, i.e., political allegory). In my view, she was hoping, or even expecting, to be read as using a subjective, female voice. Intratextual and intertextual evidence shows that she shared these statesmen’s Confucian scholar-officials moral ideals. Her loyalty to the Northern Song is expressed beyond any doubt in her “Wu River” (the shi poem cited above) in which she evokes the loyalty of Qu Yuan to his country. In the autumn scenery at the beginning of the first stanza, we see that the chrysanthemum is abused by the “heartless wind and rain” trying to destroy it. In the last lines of that stanza, it is still keeping its head high, still producing and emitting its fragrance (everlasting virtue, if we continue the analogy with Qu Yuan’s “Encountering Sorrow”), a scent “not inferior” to a spring flower. In the second stanza, the autumn scenery deepens, implying that the days of this flower/persona are counted. Still it stands there, pure and uncorrupted, as “white as snow” and as “spotless as jade,” “it leans toward us,” “reluctant” to take its leave. The flower displays “genuine” human emotions (using simile, the rhetorical device bi 比 again): “it seems like (si 似)” it is filled with deep sorrow, it even “seems like (si 似)” it is shedding tears. Why? She parallels the first stanza by using historical allusions in the context of the flower’s display of emotion. Firstly, she alludes to Zheng Jiafu, who allegedly when passing through the mountain of Hangao met two fairy maidens wearing pendants with enormous pearls. He asked for the pearls and was given them, but on his way, looking back, he found that the women had vanished, and so had the pearls. This allusion is often used to represent mutual love between a man and woman. Chen Zumei however, who reads this poem as an expression of Li’s frustration over her husband’s extramarital affairs, claims that this allusion refers to a man having a woman on the side,103 Mingcheng’s involvement with a “goddess,” a courtesan. This reading is reinforced by Chen’s interpretation of the second allusion as the story of the female poet Ban, who was the favourite concubine of Emperor Cheng of Han until he fell in love with a dancing girl and married her. Allegedly, after being removed from the Imperial quarters, Ban wrote an ode to a beautiful fan, expressing the

103 Chen, Li Qingzhao shi ci xuan p. 40 and Chen Zumei 陳祖美, Li Qingzhao xinhuan 李清照新傳 (2001), p. 77, discussed by Egan in Appendix 2: “Recent interpretations of particular poems on the concubine issue,” poem No. 6, Egan, The Burden of Female Talent.

132

Lena Rydholm

fan’s (her own) sorrow at being shunned after the summer’s heat, in an attempt to regain the Emperor’s favour.104 Chen Zumei’s reading may seem plausible, but without adding uncertain biographical data the interpretation falls flat. Prior to the “revelation” of the possibility of Mingcheng taking a concubine, this interpretation did not exist. With Chen Zumei’s interpretation, this poem would simply be an “abandoned wife” poem, a wife pleading with her husband, trying to regain his favours. My impression is rather that Li is using the chrysanthemum and a number of historical allusions to assert her own moral ideals and ambitions, just as the male poets have done for centuries. Several critics do not connect this poem with Mingcheng’s possible extra-marital affairs. Zhuge Yibin 諸葛憶兵 claims that this poem was written while spending ten happily married years together with Mingcheng in Qingzhou. The poem has no melancholy undertone, it is simply a literary exercise, a display of wit and learning, an example of her competitions with her husband on writing odes on certain themes.105 Another critic, also dating this poem to the Qingzhou period, claims that it refers to the political turbulence (the wind and rain) in the Zhao family at the time. Zhao Mingcheng, instead of trying to please the “evil” premier Cai Jing (who banished his father), left government office to remain loyal to his principles, like Qu Yuan, and retreated to the Zhao family manor with his wife to lead a secluded life, like Tao Yuanming.106 The moral integrity of the chrysanthemum in the poem is thus transferred from Li Qingzhao to her husband. This may seem peculiar, but not so if one recollects that there is no categorical correspondence between “women” and “moral integrity” in traditional literary critique, only between “men” and “moral integrity.” The cultural stereotypes related to gendered imagery are so pervasive that many critics will rather use biographical data to ascribe the moral integrity of a female persona within the text to a real male person outside the text.

104 Chen, Li Qingzhao shi ci xuan, p. 41. The poem Lady Ban 班 allegedly wrote was an ode to a fan (“Yuange xing” 怨歌行), written on a silk fan, describing a fan as pure as snow, as round as the moon, having an intimate relation with the Emperor, who would keep it within his sleeve, close to his heart, to use it on hot summer days. But the fan feared the coming of autumn. Its fears came true, it was put in a box when the chilly winds arrived, and it did lose its master’s favour. For this poem in Chinese, see Chen, Li Qingzhao shi ci xuan, p. 41. 105 Egan summarizing Zhuge Yibing’s 諸葛憶兵 interpretation of this poem in Li Qingzhao yu Zhao Mingcheng 李清照與趙明誠 (2004), pp. 62–63, in Appendix 2: “Recent interpretations,” poem No. 6, Egan, The Burden of Female Talent. 106 Xu Peijun 徐培均, Li Qingzhao ji jianzhu 李清照集箋注 (Shanghai: Shanghai guiji chubanshe, 2002), pp. 37–38.

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

133

If we return to the final lines of the second stanza of the poem, we find an Autumn nature scene with further allusions to Qu Yuan and Tao Yuanming. In these lines she laments: “Heaven commands the time of withering and loss of fragrance.” However, “If we truly treasure it, why the need to remember anymore, the riverbank [alluding to Qu Yuan by the riverbank]107 and the eastern hedge [referring to the line in Tao Yuanming’s “Poems After Drinking Wine (No. 5)”: “Picking chrysanthemums by the eastern hedge” (cited above)]?” I would rephrase this as Li asking, why can she not, as a female persona/poet, be ascribed the virtue and moral integrity associated with the chrysanthemum when using this image in the context of Qu Yuan and Tao Yuanming? And why can she not be valued and remembered simply through her own merits and literary achievements (without alluding to Qu and Tao)? The reading of the imagery in this poem greatly varies, being based on various biographical data and on pre-conceptions of the categorical correspondences of natural imagery and engendered aesthetics. In my reading of this poem, it matters not whether she was in Qingzhou at the time or not, nor whether she was young or old, nor whether Mingcheng took a concubine. My reading is based on intratextual and intertextual evidences. What interests me is how she, a female poet and master of the wanyue style, deconstructed the gendered aesthetics and natural imagery of the ci genre. Intratextual evidence shows that Li was aware of the categorical correspondences between the chrysanthemum and Qu Yuan’s and Tao Yuanming’s moral integrity. Through her creative use of the chrysanthemum in her ci poetry, she asserts that female poets may possess the moral integrity of Qu and Tao (a moral integrity she had already expressed in her shi poetry, such as “Wu River”). She also shows that it is possible for a female poet to use a subjective female voice in a ci poem to become something beyond a beautiful flower, a courtesan seen through a male gaze, evaluated simply by external appearance. In the final lines of the poem, there is possibly even a “feministic” undertone, if she is saying that she should not have to allude to these male poets to prove that women can possess moral integrity and loyalty to their country. James Liu claimed that the merits of using conventional images/symbols could be judged by “how the poet has reaffirmed, developed, modified or changed their significance” (cited above). Li Qingzhao, in my view, tried to modify the chrysanthemum’s “significance and emotional associations by its context” (James Liu’s words). In that sense, she may be seen as trying to develop a “categorical connection” 107 This line alludes to a few lines in the poem “Fisherman” (Yufu 漁父), in: Chuci quanyi, pp. 136–137, reminiscing Qu Yuan’s moral integrity and incorruptibility in the form of a dialogue between him and a fisherman by the riverbank. Although the poem is often attributed to Qu Yuan, the authorship is uncertain, Chuci quanyi, p. 136.

134

Lena Rydholm

between “women” and “moral integrity,” using the chrysanthemum as a common denominator, since it is categorically linked to both women (“being” flowers) and to moral integrity (Qu and Tao). In earlier poems, both these cosmic correspondences were not expected to be active simultaneously in a poem. The chrysanthemum refers either to women (as in Wu’s poem cited above) or to moral integrity (as in Tao’s and Qu’s poems). In Li Qingzhao’s poem, it is clear that both correspondences co-exist and interplay. In “Western” terms, searching for a new image, a new vehicle for the tenor (moral integrity) suitable to apply to women, would be very difficult given that natural imagery in the ci genre was distinguished as inherently feminine or masculine. Instead, she made full use of conventional analogies, tracing the significance of the chrysanthemum back to its roots, Qu Yuan, and applying it in a new context, that of a female persona with moral integrity. Thus she deconstructed the traditional gendered aesthetics of masculine and feminine imagery. But she evidently did not convince James Liu and other critics. I shall return to this issue after reading three more of her poems that include the image of the chrysanthemum, when discussing the two examples of “wasted youth and faded beauty” cited and commented by James Liu above.

“Homesickness” and the Image of the Chrysanthemum in Li Qingzhao’s ci Poetry Another example of Li Qingzhao using the chrysanthemum with reference to moral integrity, rather than referring to feminine beauty, is the following ci poem: 鷓鴣天

To the tune “Partridge Sky”

寒日蕭蕭上鎖窗， 梧桐應恨夜来霜。 酒闌更喜團茶苦， 夢斷偏宜瑞腦香。

The chilly sun climbs up the window catches. The parasol tree should hate last night’s frost. The wine is all drunk so I make the best of bitter tea. My dream interrupted, by the fragrance of Dragon incense.

秋已盡， 日猶長。 仲宣懷遠更淒涼。 不如随分尊前醉， 莫負東籬菊蕊黄。

Autumn is ended, but the day is still too long. I am more lonely and homesick than Wang Can. It is better to accept my fate. Drunk in front of my wine cup; I should not be ungrateful for the yellow chrysanthemums by the eastern hedge.108

108 Li Qingzhao, “Zhegu tian” 鷓鴣天, in: Li Qingzhao ji jiaozhu, p. 30 and Quan Songci Vol. 2, p. 929. English translation by Kenneth Rexroth and Ling Chung, Li Ch’ingchao: Complete Poems (New York: New Directions Publishing Company, 1979), p. 40, with minor modifications by L. Rydholm in lines 2, 7 and 10.

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

135

In this poem there are several plausible allusions. I will deal with the ones clearly relevant to my analysis of the significance chrysanthemum. The poet Wang Can 王粲 (177–217) referred to in line six, was known for his exceptional memory and intelligence and was praised for his talents at an early age (just as Li Qingzhao was). Due to the wars and rebellions causing the fall of the Eastern Han dynasty, he left the capital Chang’an (near Xian) and fled to the south. He is said to have spent 15 miserable years in Jingzhou, failing to obtain office due to lack of favour with the most powerful officials. He wrote poems expressing homesickness, among them the following heart-breaking lament: 七哀詩(其一，二)

“Seven Sorrows” (verses one and two)

西京亂無象， 豺虎方遘患。 復棄中國去， 委身適荆蠻。 親戚對我悲， 朋友相追攀。 出门無所見, 白骨蔽平原。[…]

The Western Capital [Chang’an] in lawless disorder; wolves and tigers poised to prey on it: I’ll leave this middle realm, be gone, go far off to the tribes of Ching. Parents and kin face me in sorrow, friends running after, pulling me back. Out the gate I see only white bones that strew the broad plain. […]

荊蠻非我鄉, 何為久滯淫? […] 羈旅無終極， 憂思壯難任。

Tribes of Ching [Jing] – that’s not my home; how can I stay for long among them? […] On a journey that has no end, Dark thought are powerful and hard to bear.109

This poem describes the suffering of the people, along with Wang Can’s lament over the fallen Han dynasty and his homesickness. This is a situation Li Qingzhao could relate to, being a refugee in the south, loyal to the Northern Song and missing her homeland. Wang Can shared the ambitions and loyalty of Qu Yuan and Tao Yuanming, but the persona of Li’s ci poem clearly states (using simile, the rhetorical device of bi): “I’m more lonely and homesick than Wang Can.” Her persona’s (her own) situation is worse than Wang’s. Wang Can returned to the north and gained recognition and office. Being a woman, she would never gain recognition of her talents and be awarded office, and there was no hope of returning to the north. As a woman, she has no recourse but “to accept my fate. Drunk

109 Wang Can’s 王粲 poem “Qi ai shi sanshou” 七哀詩三首, in: Han Wei Liuchao shi jianshang cidian, pp. 214–216. English translation by Burton Watson in: The Columbia Book of Chinese Poetry. From Early Times to the Thirteenth Century, ed. Burton Watson (New York: Columbia Univ. Press, 1984), pp. 106–107.

136

Lena Rydholm

in front of my wine cup.” Being more homesick than Wang signals that the poet’s loyalty to her homeland is even deeper than his. The final lines “I should not be ungrateful for the yellow chrysanthemums by the eastern hedge,” allude to the very same line by Tao Yuanming: “Picking chrysanthemums by the eastern hedge” (cited above) as in the ode to the chrysanthemum to the tune “Abundant Beauty,” discussed above. There is no doubt that the chrysanthemums “stimulate” (the rhetorical device xing) the “categorical correspondence” of moral integrity and a secluded life-style associated with Tao Yuanming. There is no personification in this poem with regard to the chrysanthemum (as opposed to in “Abundant Beauty”). The flower “is” not the persona, through rhetorical devices such as simile or analogy/categorical correspondence, and there is no internalized male gaze. She is using a subjective female voice, evoking the personal qualities of Wang Can and Tao Yuanming. She is again “nothing like” a courtesan in the world of male poets’ wanyue ci poems. Critics have seen this as in essence an “abandoned wife” wanyue ci poem (being lonely in an autumn setting, fearing the frost, numbing herself with wine etc.). But there is no intratextual evidence that she wrote this thinking of her absent (or dead) husband. There is, however, both intratextual and intertextual evidence of the persona/her missing and being loyal to her homeland, just like Wang Can. And just as in the ode to the chrysanthemum discussed above, there is a claim to possess the moral integrity and secluded life-style of Tao Yuanming. Perhaps there is even a “feministic” undertone in this poem as well, in “being worse off ” than Wang Can.

“Wasted youth and faded beauty” of the Chrysanthemum in Li Qingzhao’s ci Poetry? The two poems analysed, written to the tune “Abundant Beauty” and to the tune “Partridge Sky,” prove that Li Qingzhao was well aware of the analogies related to the chrysanthemum and the moral integrity and uncorrupted life-styles of these great male statesmen/poets. It is thus safe to assume that she bore this in mind when writing other poems using the image of the chrysanthemum. Having no gentry-women’s ci poetry tradition to emulate, she looked to Qu Yuan and Tao Yuanming as role models in terms of personal qualities, literary achievements and their use of the chrysanthemum. She did not identify with the courtesans in wanyue poems by male poets. I would say she aspired to be regarded as a human being, capable of all kinds of thoughts and emotions. So let us now return to the famous lines with chrysanthemums cited by James Liu as examples of “wasted youth and faded beauty” in Li Qingzhao’s poems. I will read them in the context

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

137

of the entire poem and not simply presume an analogy between the female persona and the flowers. 聲聲慢

To the tune “A Long Melancholy Tune”

尋尋覓覓， Searching, searching…seeking, seeking, 冷冷清清, cold, cold…still, still, 凄凄慘慘戚戚。 sadness, sadness…sorrow, sorrow…pain, pain. 乍暖還寒時候， In the season when a sudden warmth can easily be overturned by chill, 最難將息。 it is most difficult for me to find some rest. 三盃两盞淡酒， Two, three cups of weak wine, 怎敵他, how could they fend off, the fierce evening wind? 晚来風急。 Now the Wild geese fly across, 雁過也， 正傷心， in my state of sorrow, 却是舊時相識。 I realize they are old friends of mine. 满地黄花堆積, 憔悴損， 如今有誰忺摘。 守著窗兒， 獨自怎生得黑。 梧桐更兼細雨， 到黄昏, 點點滴滴。 这次第, 怎一個, 愁字了得!

Yellow chrysanthemums piling up, covering the ground, withered and faded, Who will care to pick them now? Watching by the window, alone…how will I endure until darkness descends? A parasol-tree and, of course, a thin rain falling on its leaves, until the dusk falls: Drip, drip…drop, drop This whole situation, How could a single, word like “sorrow” suffice?110

This poem is often regarded as Li’s most sophisticated work, using several repetitions in the initial lines to reinforce the feelings of anxiety, loneliness, darkness and despair that permeate the poem. This deep sense of despair has led many critics to assume that she is mourning her husband’s death. This poem is read as an “abandoned wife” wanyue poem, with the additional flavour of the widow being a refugee, missing her homeland. The chrysanthemum is interpreted as a “metaphor” for the persona/poet, the ageing, lonely Li Qingzhao, as in James Liu’s interpretation. However, there is nothing erotic about the chrysanthemum/ persona. The flowers are withered, scattered on the ground, unable to attract a male gaze, followed by the rhetorical question: “Who will care to pick them now?”

110 Li Qingzhao, “Shengsheng man” 聲聲慢, in: Li Qingzhao ji jiaozhu, pp. 64–65 and Quan Songci Vol. 2, p. 932. English translation by L. Rydholm.

138

Lena Rydholm

No one. The flower/persona is not trying to please anyone; thus most critics assume that the object of her affections must be dead. Chen Zumei, however, claims that “staying [watching] by the window” refers to Li Qingzhao herself “waiting” for Mingcheng, so he is not dead.111 Rather, he has gone off with his concubine, shunning his wife. The loss of love is then the major cause of the deep despair in the poem, Chen thinks that the poem could be written to regain Mingcheng’s sympathies.112 However, we should consider Li Qingzhao’s use of the chrysanthemums in the two ci poems discussed above. She obviously felt strongly about moral integrity, being “equal” to Qu and Tao, and was passionate about loyalty to her homeland, being even “more lonely and homesick than Wang Can,” and she shared the patriotism of Qu Yuan and Xiang Yu (in her shi poem above). So we could actually try to read the imagery in this poem without referring to her relationship with her husband at all. The lines “Two, three cups of weak wine, how could they fend off, the fierce evening wind?” may refer to the aggression of the invading forces (from which she had been forced to flee from town to town). The “Wild geese,” the old acquaintances, easily crossed the borders between north and south, unlike the persona of the poem, never able to return home. Thus I interpret the wild geese as referring to homesickness (not as messengers carrying love letters, as some do). There is no clear intratextual sign in this poem that it had to do with Mingcheng. There is a sorrow and deep despair in it, beyond the loss of a husband, which many critics besides me have felt when reading it, that is, the loss of everything. If we want to go down the road of relationships, this poem may even be written with reference to the divorce from her second husband, after her imprisonment due to suing him in court. The shattered chrysanthemum could refer to her sense of losing moral integrity in the public eye through this scandal. Without her reputation, her moral integrity, what was “left to pick”? Who would appreciate her? Still, if this poem centred on her second marriage, why the winds and the wild geese? This is not the interpretation I would argue for. In my view, the chrysanthemum, as in the other poems, evokes analogies with Qu Yuan, Tao Yuanming and Wang Can, not with beautiful courtesans. There is a pervasive sense of loss in the poem that is more severe than personal loss or the loss of her own reputation. It is the sense of a loss of an era, a lifestyle, losing one’s homeland and living in a dark age where all decency 111 Chen, Li Qingzhao shi ci xuan, p. 50. 112 Chen Zumei’s interpretation of this poem in Li Qingzhao xinzhuan, pp. 105–108 summarised and discussed by Ronald Egan in Appendix 2: “Recent interpretations of particular poems on the concubine issue,” poem No. 31, Egan, The Burden of Female Talent. Egan also questions Chen’s interpretation of this poem.

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

139

and morals are gone. It is in my view foremost a lament of the fall of the Northern Song dynasty, with the added flavours of all kinds of personal losses. In these evil times, moral integrity is scarce and patriotic scholar-officials (considering herself to be among them) few and far between. Even so, there is no one, no wise King “to pick” them, to appreciate them. Emperor Gao is not interested, as Qu Yuan put it, in “Raising up the virtuous and able men to government” (in “Encountering Sorrow” cited above). All the old heroes are dead, and there is no hope of ever recovering and returning to one’s homeland. The persona has long since realized there is no hope for the country, for the people living as refugees in the south. There is only endless darkness and despair, waiting and crying until the final, everlasting darkness arrives. So, yes, the word “sorrow” (chou 愁) is certainly “insufficient” to encompass all this. This final line recalls Tao Yuanming’s words “I would like to tell, but lack the words” (cited above). In her poem, Li Qingzhao, the “master of the wanyue style”, did not ask to remain silent due to lack of words, instead she expressed her own insight, that words are in fact inadequate to express the full range of human suffering. My reading of the poem to the tune “A Long Melancholy Tune” shows that the interpretation of the chrysanthemum as “wasted youth and faded beauty” is highly insufficient. Such a reading is based on cultural stereotypes rooted in cosmic correspondences and feminine aesthetics used by male wanyue ci poets describing courtesans. My reading is substantiated by intratextual and intertextual evidence, as is the following reading of the other example used by James Liu to claim that the chrysanthemum signifies “wasted youth and faded beauty” in Li’s ci poetry. 醉花陰

To the tune “Drunk in the Shade of Flowers”

薄霧濃雲愁永晝， 瑞腦銷金獸。 佳節又重陽， 玉枕紗厨， 半夜涼初透。

Thin mist and thick clouds, depressed throughout the endless day. Auspicious Dragon [incense], vaporizes in the golden beast. Again it is the Double Nine [festival], my jade pillow and thin bed curtain, at midnight the chill seeps through.

東籬把酒黄昏後， 有暗香盈袖。 莫道不銷魂， 簾捲西風， 人似黄花瘦。

At twilight, as I raise my wine cup by the eastern hedge, a dim fragrance fills my sleeves. Don’t say this cannot carry away one’s soul! When the west wind rolls up the curtains, this person is as thin [or fragile] as the chrysanthemums.113

113 Li Qingzhao, “Zuihua yin” 醉花陰, in: Li Qingzhao ji jiaozhu, pp. 34–35 and Quan Songci Vol. 2, p. 929. English translation by L. Rydholm. In the final line, many translators choose to use versions of this ci poem in which there is a “compare to” (bi 比) in the place of “be similar to/seem like” (si 似). Translating the line as “One

140

Lena Rydholm

The chrysanthemum in this poem has been used to build the trademark of Li Qingzhao in our time. If we only consider the final line of this poem, “This person is as thin [or fragile] as the chrysanthemums,” we may associate the poet with the fading flowers, with “wasted youth and fading beauty,” as James Liu did, since withering flowers can be used in analogy to ageing, and thus losing beauty. This analogy is reinforced by using the rhetorical device of comparison (bi 比) through using a marked simile, the character “to be similar to/seem like” (si 似), to connect the persona and the flower. Getting “thin” (shou 瘦) through losing weight, is often used as a sign of deep longing for an absent loved one. Being cold and lonely, burning incense to pass time during a family festival, adds to this sentiment. The domesticized feminine setting and imagery of the first stanza, a bedroom with curtains is a typical wanyue setting. This poem is often interpreted as the persona/ Li Qingzhao missing Mingcheng who is away on state business. This interpretation is reinforced by a popular anecdote, claiming that Li sent him this poem while he was away and that he failed to outshine his wife when writing similar poems in response.114 (This anecdote becomes problematic in interpretations claiming that he is not away on business but rather having an extra-marital affair.) English translations of this poem often use the word “frail,” “fragile” or “delicate” for the word “thin” (shou 瘦) in the final line. The translation “fragile/delicate” may seem more poetic and evoke a similar sense of a “categorical correspondence” between the female persona and the flower in Western readers. The use of “delicate” recalls the style of “delicate restraint” (wanyue) that Li championed. These translations reinforce the interpretation of the chrysanthemum as a “metaphor” for Li Qingzhao and the image of her as a “fragile,” melancholy person, the master of feminine aesthetics. Who can really outshine “a flower” writing about a flower from the inside? This very line has shaped the image of Li Qingzhao in China and in the West. Just google her name+image on the Internet and you will

is more fragile than chrysanthemums” may sound more poetic to modern readers. It is certainly more “catchy” and has become an often cited phrase, but as can be seen in the poems by Li Qingzhao discussed above, such as “Abundant Beauty” she often used 似 in her poems when using the rhetorical device of “comparison” (bi 比). In addition, 似 is the character used in one of the oldest extant versions of this poem in Zeng Zao’s 曾慥 anthology Yuefu yaci 樂府雅詞 (1146), in: Siku quanshu 四庫全 書, Vol. 1489, p. 277. It is also Wang Zhongwen’s choice between these two options in Li Qingzhao ji jiaozhu, p. 35, as well as mine. 114 For an English translation of this anecdote in an “unofficial biography” (waizhuan 外傳) of Li Qingzhao, told in Yi Shizhen’s 伊世珍 (14th c.) Langhuan ji 琅嬛記, see Egan, The Burden of Female Talent, p. 222.

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

141

see hundreds of images of her in the midst of all kinds of beautiful flowers – images in which the flower and the beautiful female figures are inseparable, just as in Wen Tingyun’s poem about the courtesan and the flower in the mirror (cited above). But my impression when reading her poems, looking at intratextual and intertextual evidence, is that this image of her in posterity is the last thing she would have wanted to achieve. Thus there is an alternative reading of the chrysanthemum even in this ci poem. In the first stanza, the persona spends her time behind closed doors, as women did, perhaps due to chilly weather or due to choosing a secluded life-style. The incense makes the room stuffy. The persona is feeling low, but is this because of missing a lover? Or is it the lack of someone who really understands her (zhiyin 知音)? If we consider Li’s inclination to allude to Tao Yuanming in the final stanza of poems with chrysanthemums, we are not disappointed in this poem either. The scenery changes: “At twilight, as I raise my wine cup by the eastern hedge.” For the third time in the context of chrysanthemums in her ci poems, she evokes the exact same line by Tao Yuanming “Picking chrysanthemums by the eastern hedge, I catch sight of the distant southern hills” (cited above). This is no coincidence. There is no doubt that chrysanthemums in this poem are used with reference to Tao’s poem. Thus it “stimulates” (the rhetorical device xing), the analogy of living a secluded life, like a hermit, along with the purity and moral integrity of Tao Yuanming. The subsequent lines “a dim fragrance fills my sleeves” and “Don’t say this cannot carry away one’s soul!” bear philosophical and Daoistic undertones. Let me suggest a reading in which this “dim” (sometimes translated as mysterious) “fragrance” is the spirit of Tao’s poem “filling” her mind, lifting her spirit, making her “catch sight of the distant southern hills.” In a moment of clarity, she transcends her individual life and gets a sense of being a part of something greater, a unity of man and nature in spirit, for a moment perceiving the all-pervasive immanent principal of Dao. This “spiritual journey” offers comfort and the ability to rise above personal difficulties, just as Tao Yuanming was able to keep mentally aloof from the corrupt world of humans. We have already established in the ci poems by Li discussed above that she used the chrysanthemum as a symbol of virtue and moral integrity, by alluding to Tao, but also to Qu Yuan, in the final lines of poems. Now I will suggest a reading of the final line that will probably be as provocative as inconceivable to mainstream Confucian critics. Let us consider again the word “thin” (shou 瘦) in the final line “this person is as thin [or fragile] as the chrysanthemums.” Literally taken, the word “thin” could allude to Qu Yuan’s “Encountering Sorrow” and the lines cited above: “In the mornings I drank the dew that fell from the magnolia: At evening

142

Lena Rydholm

ate the petals that dropped from chrysanthemums. If only my mind can be truly beautiful, It matters nothing that I often faint for famine.” The persona of Li’s poem may be focusing on cultivating her virtue and moral integrity, leading a secluded life without compromising her principals, and in that sense taking pride in getting thinner, finally even becoming as “thin as the chrysanthemums,” the very symbol of virtue and moral integrity. This reading of the chrysanthemum in the final line may seem to push the analogy to its limit. However, if this poem had been attributed to Tao Yuanming, the chrysanthemum in the final line would most certainly have been read through its categorical correspondence of purity, virtue and moral integrity and a secluded lifestyle. The first stanza would have been read as the male poet being in low spirits, missing perhaps an understanding friend or a brother. The second stanza might be praised by critics for this male poet’s ability to transcend ordinary life, and perceive the relationship between human beings and nature, for having lifted the whole poem to a philosophical level and embodied Dao. But since this poem was written by a female poet, she can only “be” the flower on a superficial level, and the only thought she is capable of is the longing for her husband. To put it bluntly, when men wrote of this chrysanthemum, they were associated with the chrysanthemum’s “inner qualities,” virtue and moral integrity; when a female poet used it, she was associated with its external qualities, with beauty. Imagine that Li Qingzhao’s ci poem to the tune “A Long Melancholy Tune” had been attributed to Qu Yuan. Then the reading of the chrysanthemum would have been entirely different. No scholar would have doubted that the poem dealt with Qu Yuan’s situation as a loyal minister banished by the King, complaining about evil times and the corruption in society. The shattered chrysanthemums on the ground, which no one would pick anymore, would have referred to the lack of moral integrity in society, the lack of loyal and virtuous officials (like Qu Yuan himself), and the King’s inability to identify and employ such men in his service. Now the reader might say that this poem was written in the ci genre of the Song dynasty, so it could not have been written in the same way by Qu Yuan. Well, imagine if “A Long Melancholy Tune” turned out to be written by the fierce general Yue Fei, or the elevated haofang poet Xin Qiji. Both were statesmen and poets deeply loyal to the Northern Song dynasty and displeased with the moral state of the Southern Song. Both of their ambitions to reclaim the north came to nothing, they ended up slandered and banished by the emperor, just as Qu Yuan was. Surely, the chrysanthemums in this poem, if written by any of these statesmen/poets, would be read as referring to virtue and moral integrity and having nothing to do with their “wasted youth and faded beauty.”

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

143

Li Qinghao’s ci Poem Written in the haofang Style: Masculine Natural Imagery and Feministic Undertones In my view, there is a feministic undertone in all of the four wanyue ci poems by Li Qingzhao including the image of the chrysanthemum discussed above. However, she voiced a complaint about gender restrictions more explicitly in the one known ci poem written by her in the masculine, “heroic abandon” haofang style. 漁家傲 记梦

To the tune “Fisherman’s Pride” A Dream

天接雲濤連曉霧， The sky joins billowing waves of clouds with morning mists 星河欲轉千帆舞。 The River of stars tilts as a thousand sails are dancing in the wind. 彷彿夢魂歸帝所， As in a dream my soul returns to the place of the Supreme, 聞天語， I hear the voice of Heaven 段勤問我歸何處。 Kindly asking me where I am going. 我報路長嗟日暮， I answer long had been my road and sigh the sun is setting soon. 學詩謾有驚人句。 I’ve studied poetry and written astonishing verse lines to no avail. 九萬里風鹏正舉。 The huge roc bird is flying on a ninety-thousand-mile wind. 風休住， Wind do not stop! 蓬舟吹取三山去。 Until my tiny boat has been blown to Three mountain-islands.115

For Li Qingzhao it was not difficult to switch to using the masculine aesthetic strategies in ci poetry (just as she observed the genre distinctions in this regard in her “masculine” shi poetry and her “feminine” ci-poetry). In this poem, she uses the “masculine” setting of outdoor, spacious, active and forceful scenery. The persona is travelling by boat in stormy weather. She makes full use of conventional “masculine” imagery: huge waves and billowing clouds, “a thousand sails are dancing” in the fierce wind, a vast sky with myriads of stars above. Not a flower in sight… The nature scenery is juxtaposed with a human realm, equally grand. Just like her hero of past times, Qu Yuan in “Encountering Sorrow,” she makes a “spiritual journey” to Heaven to meet with the Supreme. The theme of meeting and conversing with the Lord of Heaven is quite rare in Chinese poetry,116 and Qu Yuan is the foremost poet associated with this theme. The reader is by now not surprised to find that she again alludes to his work. In “Encountering Sorrow,” Qu Yuan relies on a mythological beast, a mighty dragon to ride the soaring winds and bring him all the way up to the Gate of 115 Li Qingzhao, “Yujia ao” 漁家傲, in: Li Qingzhao ji jiaozhu, p. 6 and Quan Songci Vol. 2, p. 927. English translation by L. Rydholm. 116 Egan, The Burden of Female Talent, p. 50.

144

Lena Rydholm

Heaven. But the gatekeeper will not open the door, so Qu Yuan fails to obtain a meeting with the Supreme. The famous Tang poet Li Bai also depicted a “spiritual journey” in a poem, riding a dragon to the Gate of Heaven, hoping to gain a medicine that would bring him longevity. Li Qingzhao is alluding to Li Bai’s work through citing his very words in his poem “I hear the voice of Heaven” (闻天语).117 The female persona in Li Qingzhao’s poem is allowed an audience with the Lord of Heaven, who is even “Kindly asking me where I am going.” Her answer is a lament over life-long struggles and the end of it approaching: “I answer long had been my road and sigh the sun is setting soon.” These words clearly allude to two lines in Qu Yuan’s “Encountering Sorrow:” “Long, long had been my road and far, far away” (路曼曼其修遠兮)” and “The day is getting darker and the sun is almost setting (日忽忽其將暮).”118 In the next line the persona continues: “I’ve studied poetry and written astonishing verse lines to no avail.” Now she is clearly alluding to the famous line by another very popular Tang poet Du Fu: “I’d rather die than write verse lines that do not astonish people (語不惊驚人死不休).”119 So this female persona has already reached the achievement of Du Fu in writing poetry. But unlike Du Fu, she has written her “astonishing verse lines to no avail”. Why? In my view, this expression has a “feministic” undertone. Being a female poet, her poetry will never gain the same status as Du Fu’s, nor the career opportunities, recognition or eternal fame of the great male poets Qu Yuan, Li Bai and Du Fu. This interpretation is not farfetched. The following line about the “roc bird” alludes to the legendary bird in Zhuangzi’s work, a huge beast that when migrating to the south, flutters its huge wings and stirs the waters for three thousand li, then riding the whirlwind to a 117 Li Bai’s poem, “Fei long yin” 飛龍引, in: Quan Tangshi 全唐詩, ed. Hebei renmin chubanshe (Shijiazhuang: Hebei renmin chubanshe, 1993), Vol. 2, p. 789, also discussed by Egan, The Burden of Female Talent, p. 50. 118 Qu Yuan, “Lisao,” in: Chuci quanyi, p. 17. English translation by D. Hawkes, in: Anthology of Chinese Literature, pp. 56–57. 119 According to Wang Zhongwen, Li Qingzhao is alluding to Du Fu’s famous line in the poem “Jiangshan zhi shui ru haishi, liao duanshu” 江上值水如海勢聊短述, Li Qingzhao ji jiaozhu, p. 7 f 2. For Du Fu’s poem see Quan Tangshi, Vol. 2, p. 1154. Egan’s interpretation of the line about writing startling poetry lines that are “useless,” is that: “She is feeling the frustration of every writer who has doubts about the power or impact of his or her work, of every artist that wonders if the final result is worth the effort required to produce it.” Egan, The Burden of Female Talent, p. 51. But while Du Fu struggled to write astonishing lines, he gained tremendous recognition; in contrast Li had already produced several astonishing lines without gaining the same recognition.

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

145

height of 90 000 li.120 A “Roc’s journey” is a popular saying used about someone with great ambitions and career aspirations.121 In the final lines of the poem, the persona/poet explains to the Lord of Heaven, and to us readers, where she really wants to go: “Wind do not stop! Until my tiny boat has been blown to Three mountain-islands.” The three islands refer to three legendary mountain-islands where the Daoist immortals would dwell. If this were a poem written by a male poet, it would most certainly be interpreted as a sign of his lofty ambitions as a poet, to gain recognition as one of the most celebrated male writers, to join the great writers of the past, Qu Yuan, Li Bai, Du Fu and the other “immortals,” through his literary works. Being a female writer, however, she thinks that she probably has “written astonishing verses to no avail”; she will never gain eternal fame for her poetry. Still, this reading of mine is controversial even today. The lines cited above clearly allude to Qu Yuan’s and Li Bai’s spiritual journeys; to Du Fu’s famous statement about his ambitions as a poet; and to the Daoist Zhuangzi’s roc bird ambitions and immortality. Still, many scholars prefer to interpret the poem autobiographically, in a very down-to-earth way, rather than to consider the significance of the allusions and intertextual connections in the poem. Chen Zumei and many others have interpreted the poem as a report-like description of an actual boat journey that Li Qingzhao supposedly made to try to get an audience with Emperor Gaozong to present him with a certain bronze vessel.122 Slandered at court, accused of collaboration with Jin and rewarded with this vessel, she went to present it to the Emperor to prove her innocence. In her strictly autobiographical interpretation, Chen Zumei, in spite of insufficient biographical data, pinpoints the exact rivers and mountains referred to in the poem that Li passed through on this journey to see Gaozong, claiming these to be actual mountains. The visit to the Lord of Heaven is supposedly Li’s “imagined” visit to the Emperor Gaozong (since the visit in reality did not take place). I am not saying that Li did not make a boat journey, or that she did not try to meet Gaozong, I am just saying that such biographical data are irrelevant to the interpretation of this poem. While Qu Yuan’s visit to Heaven is interpreted as being a spiritual journey related to shamanistic practices in the state of Chu, Li Qingzhao’s female persona obviously cannot make a spiritual journey, even if she clearly alludes to Qu Yuan. Women are 120 Part of Zhuangzi’s 莊子, “Xiaoyao you” 逍遥遊 is cited by Wang Zhongwen, Li Qingzhao ji jiaozhu, p. 7 f. 3. 121 Wang Jiaosheng, “Tune: ‘Fisherman’s Pride. A Dream’,” in: The Columbia Anthology of Traditional Chinese Literature, p. 335, f 2. 122 Chen, Li Qingzhao shi ci xuan, pp. 78–80.

146

Lena Rydholm

not expected to write about heaven and earth, and contemplations of religious and philosophical issues, or to have the ambitions of gaining immortal fame through their literary works, since this (still) belongs to the “official” realm of male poets. Thus, in my view, Li Qingzhao’s claim to have “written astonishing verse lines to no avail” in this poem contains a “feministic” undertone. It is a complaint about women’s inequality in her contemporary society, and this complaint was voiced using the masculine haofang mode in ci poetry, instead of the feminine wanyue mode. This may seem a paradox, but similar tendencies have already been established with regard to gentry-women’s ci poetry of the Ming-Ching transition. Kang-i Sun Chang wrote on the constructed “femininity” of the genre: Most women tz’u poets of the seventeenth century, however, understood that “femininity” was only a generic trait of the song lyric. Thus, although their tz’u songs were generally characterized by refined imagery and eloquence of emotion, their shih poems were filled with references to Confucian morality, social injustice, political crises, and historical events.123

Li Qingzhao lived hundreds of years earlier than gentry-women poets of the seventeenth century, but she was known for mastering the song lyric genre and wrote the first theory of the genre, in which she claimed ci to be a “school of its own.” She, just like the female poets of the seventeenth century, clearly used different aesthetic strategies when writing shi poetry and ci poetry, as can be seen when comparing her shi-poem “Wu River” (above) and these four wanyue ci poems with the image of the chrysanthemums. She also clearly used two different aesthetic strategies in her ci poems, being aware that these were aesthetic strategies that could be used by both male and female authors. When writing about the chrysanthemum in wanyue ci poems, she made full use of the feminine aesthetic strategy with regard to theme, setting and natural imagery, while trying to infuse new life into this hackneyed image to develop its significance and associations, to establish a categorical correspondence between the moral integrity associated with the chrysanthemum and female personas/poets. In her haofang-poem, on the other hand, she made full use of the masculine aesthetic strategy, with regard to theme, setting and imagery, perhaps to explicitly complain about her failure to achieve what she had attempted to do in her wanyuepoems. Thus, in my opinion, her haofang poem contains a feministic undertone that could very well have served as an inspiration and role model for female poets of the Ming-Qing transition. Consider the following poem discussed by Grace

123 Chang, “Liu Shih and Hsü Ts’an,” p. 176.

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

147

Fong in her eminent study,124 written by a gentry-woman poet, Gu Chun 顧春 (太清) (1799–1876?) who, as critics today acknowledge, inserted philosophical, Daoist, messages into her song lyrics, such as this one, with the subtitle “Sitting at night”: 秋波媚

To the tune “Ch’iu-po mei” [Qiubo mei]

自笑當年費苦吟 陳跡夢難尋 幾卷詩篇 幾張畫稿 幾許光陰 唾壺擊碎頻搔首 磨滅舊胸襟 而今赢得 千絲眼淚 一個愁心

I laugh at myself trying to work up some verses in those years— those old traces are hard to find even in dreams. How many scrolls of poems? How many sheets of sketches? How much time has been…? The jug broken from tapping, I scratch my head often, wearing out my old aspirations. And now all I’ve succeeded in getting is a thousand strands of tears and one sorrowful heart.125

Just like Li Qingzhao in her haofang ci poem to the tune “Fisherman’s Pride,” Gu Chun is complaining about the futility of writing poems, never to gain the recognition deserved.126 In another poem Gu Chun writes: “Floating on a magic raft, I visit the immortal’s home,”127 a line reminiscent of the final line in Li Qingzhao’s “Fisherman’s Pride.” Thus it does not seem too farfetched to think that Li Qingzhao became a role model for gentry-women poets of the Ming-Ching transition, such as Gu Chun, in this regard. And as Grace Fong shows in her study, these gentry-women, when voicing feminist views, just like Li Qingzhao, used the masculine haofang mode of expression in their ci poetry. One example is Gu Chun’s friend Shen Shanbao 沈善寳 (1808–1862), who wrote a ci poem in the haofang mode complaining about women’s situation in society and status in history, using a tune know to be particularly suitable for “heroic” lyrics “Man

124 Fong, “Engendering the Lyric,” pp. 107–144. 125 Gu Chun’s 顧春 ci poem written to the tune “Ch’iu-po mei” [in pinyin: “Qiubo mei”] 秋波媚, in Chinese and with English translation by Grace Fong, “Engendering the Lyric,” p. 137. 126 The two last lines remind us of Li Qingzhao’s use of antithetical quantitative measure words to create an impression of depth of emotion as, for instance, in her lines in the poem to the tune “Rouged Lips” 點絳唇: “In each inch of my interior, a thousand strands of sorrow” (柔腸一寸，愁千缕縷), Li Qingzhao ji jiaozhu, p. 70. 127 Fong, “Engendering the Lyric,” p. 138.

148

Lena Rydholm

jiang hong,” and following the famous General Yue Fei’s rhymes in his haofang ci poem to this very tune.128 滿江紅

To the tune “Man chiang hung” [Man jiang hong]

滾滾銀濤， 寫不盡心頭熱血。 問當年， 金山戰鼓， 紅顏勳業。 肘後難懸蘇季印， 囊中剩有江淹筆。 算古来, 巾幗幾英雄， 愁難說。[…] 问蒼蒼, 生我欲何為? 生磨折。

Rolling on and on, the silvery waves Cannot write out all of that hot blood in my heart. I ask about that year with those battle drums at Gold Mountain— it was the achievement of a woman. On my elbow Su Ch’in’s seals of office will not be hung, and in my bag there remains only Chiang Yen’s brush. Since ancient times, how many heroes can we count among women? Too grieved to speak. […] I ask heaven on high, in giving me life, what did you want me to do? Just suffer ordeals?129

This poem recalls Li Qingzhao’s complaints and her spiritual journey and dialogue with the heavenly ruler, in her ci poem to the tune “Fisherman’s Pride,” written in the haofang mode. Li Qingzhao wrote mainly wanyue poems. Fong states that although most lyrics written by these gentry-women of the Ming-Ching transition were written in the feminine style, it was the haofang mode that was used for feministic expressions: […] when voicing their discontents as women, when trying to break the shackles of gender in literature, women had to reject the image and poetics of the feminine constructed in the dominant tradition. In trying to find a new voice and language to represent this consciousness in themselves […] They tried to assert a “new” feminine, in contradistinction to the old, by appropriating the masculine.130

Li Qingzhao did not have any female literary tradition in ci-poetry by gentrywomen to emulate, so she appropriated the masculine aesthetic strategies in her shi poems to explicitly voice her patriotism and moral ambitions. Aware of genre restrictions and styles within ci poetry, she used the masculine aesthetic strategies in a haofang ci poem to most clearly voice discontent about her situation as a 128 Fong, “Engendering the Lyric,” p. 141. 129 Shen Shanbao’s 沈善寳 ci poem written to the tune “Man chiang hung” [in pinyin: Man jiang hong] 滿江紅 in: Zhongguo lidai cainü shige jianshang cidian 中國歷代 才女詩歌鑒賞辭典, ed. Zheng Guangyi 鄭光儀 (Zhongguo gongren chubanshe, 1991), p. 1699. English translation by Grace Fong, “Engendering the Lyric,” p. 141. 130 Fong, “Engendering the Lyric,” p. 144.

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

149

female poet, and to assert her literary ambitions. In that sense she served as a role model for the female poets of the Ming-Qing transition. However, her contribution to the development of natural imagery in the feminine aesthetic style, the subjective female voice crying out in her wanyue poetry, was never really heard and fully appreciated; it was overshadowed by the visual image of the flower, the chrysanthemum. These pre-established categorical correspondences, rooted in cosmology, cultural stereotypes and masculine versus feminine aesthetic strategies appear to be too powerful to break, even today.

Conclusion Based on my readings of the chrysanthemum in Li Qingzhao’s ci poems, using mainly intratextual and intertextual evidence, it seems to me that Li did her utmost to make the conventional associations related to chrysanthemums in the context of male sages apply to female personas/writers as well, by explicitly alluding to Qu Yuan, Tao Yuanming and Wang Can. As an expert of the wanyue style, she was aware of engendered aesthetics and tried to use the image of the chrysanthemum in a creative way. As James Liu stated: “a conventional symbol [/image] can be modified in its significance and emotional associations by its context.”131 Li Qingzhao, fully aware that her poems would be read as first-person statements, made full use of the pre-established categorical correspondences of the image of the chrysanthemum, and through the rhetorical devices of simile (bi) and stimulus (xing), she placed this conventional image in a new context: a female poet of high moral integrity, living in seclusion and deeply loyal to the Northern Song. In doing so, she “deconstructed” the image of women as flowers, as empty objects of desire, viewed through a male erotic gaze in the ci genre. She replaced it with a female persona with a strong, not “fragile,” subjective voice, thus, in a sense infusing “feministic” undertones into the “feminine” wanyue style. The key is her use of natural imagery, the modification of the significance and emotional associations of the chrysanthemum. Unfortunately, her efforts are still, generally speaking, ignored by scholars and critics. She could not override the cultural gender stereotypes embodied in the pre-established cosmic/categorical correspondences related to the natural imagery in the ci genre. The femininemasculine dichotomy in imagery makes it impossible to categorize strong moral integrity and patriotism as a property inherent in “femaleness” or “femininity.”

131 Liu, The Art of Chinese Poetry, p. 130.

150

Lena Rydholm

However, as she had wished, the “tiny” vessel in her ci poem (To the tune “Fisherman’s Pride” cited above) did bring her to the “Three mountain-islands” of the immortal poets, since we read her poems today, not only in China but all over the world.

Bibliography Birch, Cyril, ed. Anthology of Chinese Literature. [Vol. 1] From Early Times to the Fourteenth Century. New York: Grove, 1965. Chang, Kang-i Sun. “Liu Shih and Hsü Ts’an: Feminine or Feminist.” In: Voices of the Song Lyric in China, ed. Pauline Yu. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994, pp. 169–187. Chang, Kang-i Sun. The Evolution of Chinese Tz’u Poetry. From Late Tang to Northern Sung. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980. Chen Zumei 陳祖美, ed. Li Qingzhao shi ci xuan 李清照詩詞選. Jinan: Shandong daxue chubanshe, 1999. Cuddon, John Anthony, ed., and Claire Preston, rev. A Dictionary of Literary Terms and Literary Theory. 4. ed. Oxford: Blackwell, 1998. Egan, Ronald. The Burden of Female Talent. The Poet Li Qingzhao and Her History in China. Cambridge MA and London: Harvard University Press, 2013. Fong, Grace. “Engendering the Lyric: Her image and Voice in Song.” In: Voices of the Song Lyric in China, ed. Pauline Yu. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994, pp. 107–144. Hebei renmin chubanshe 河北人民出版社, ed. Quan Tangshi 全唐詩. 6 Vols. Shijiazhuang: Hebei renmin chubanshe, 1993. Huang Shouqi 黃壽祺 and Mei Tongsheng 梅桐生, ed. Chuci quanyi 楚辭全譯. Guiyang: Guizhou renmin chubanshe, [1984] 1991. Karlgren, Bernhard. Book of Odes. Chinese Text, Transcription and Translation. Stockholm: The Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities, [1950] 1974. Li Qingzhao 李清照. “Cilun” 詞論. In: Li Qingzhao ji jiaozhu 李清照集校註, ed. Wang Zhongwen 王仲聞. Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1999, pp. 194–195. Li Qingzhao 李清照. “Jinshi lu hou xu” 金石錄後序. In: Li Qingzhao ji jiaozhu 李清照集校註, ed. Wang Zhongwen 王仲聞. Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1999, pp. 176–182. Liu, James J.Y. The Art of Chinese Poetry. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, [1962] 1983.

Natural Imagery in Li Qingzhao’s Song Lyrics

151

Liu Xie 劉勰. Wenxin diaolong 文心雕龍. In: Wenxin diaolong jinyi 文心雕龍今 譯, ed. Zhou Zhenfu 周振甫. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, [1986] 1998. Liu Yuqing 劉毓慶 and Li Xi 李蹊 eds. Shijing 詩經. 2 Vols. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2011. Mair, Victor H., ed. The Columbia Anthology of Traditional Chinese Literature. New York: Columbia Univ. Press, 1994. Owen, Stephen, “Meaning of the Words: The Genuine as a Value in the Tradition of the Song Lyric.” In: Voices of the Song Lyric in China, ed. Pauline Yu. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994, pp. 30–69. Owen, Stephen. Traditional Chinese Poetry and Poetics. Omen of the World. Madison WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 1985. Qu Yuan 屈原. “Lisao” 離騷. In: Chuci quanyi 楚辭全譯, ed. Huang Shouqi 黃壽 祺 and Mei Tongsheng 梅桐生. Guiyang: Guizhou renmin chubanshe, [1984] 1991, pp. 1–30. Rexroth, Kenneth and Ling Chung. Li Ch’ing-chao: Complete Poems. New York: New Directions Publishing Company, 1979. Saussy, Haun. The Problem of a Chinese Aesthetic. Stanford CA: Stanford University Press, 1993. Shen Yifu 沈義父, “Yuefu zhimi” 樂府指迷. In: Cihua congbian 詞話叢編, ed. Tang Guizhang 唐圭璋. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1990, Vol. 1, pp. 273–286. Tang Guizhang 唐圭璋, ed. Cihua congbian 詞話叢編. 5 Vols. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, [1965] 1995. Tang Guizhang 唐圭璋, ed. Quan Songci 全宋詞, 5 Vols. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, [1986] 1990. Waley, Arthur, trans. The Book of Songs. The Ancient Classic of Poetry. New York: Grove Press, [1937] 1960. Wang Jiaosheng. “The Complete Ci-poems of Li Qingzhao. A New English Translation.” Sino-Platonic Papers, No. 13, 1989. Wang Zhongwen 王仲聞. Li Qingzhao ji jiaozhu 李清照集校註. Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1999. Wang Zhuo 王灼, “Biji manzhi” 碧雞漫志. In: Cihua congbian 詞話叢編, ed. Tang Guizhang 唐圭璋. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1990, Vol. 1, pp. 65–118. Watson, Burton, ed. The Columbia Book of Chinese Poetry. From Early Times to the Thirteenth Century. New York: Columbia University Press, 1984. Wu Xiaoru 吳小如 et al. eds. Han Wei Liuchao shi jianshang cidian 漢魏六朝詩 鑒賞辭典. Shanghai: Shanghai cishu chubanshe, [1992] 2004. Wu Xionghe 吳熊和. Tang Song ci tonglun 唐宋詞通論. Hangzhou: Zhejiang guji chubanshe, [1989] 1999.

152

Lena Rydholm

Xu Peijun 徐培均, Li Qingzhao ji jianzhu 李清照集箋注, Shanghai: Shanghai guiji chubanshe, 2002. Yu, Pauline, The Reading of Imagery in the Chinese Poetic Tradition. Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1987. Yu, Pauline, ed. Voices of the Song Lyric in China. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994. Zeng Zao 曾慥. Yuefu yaci 樂府雅詞. In: Siku quanshu 四庫全書, Vol. 1489, pp. 274–277. Zheng Bijun, “Characteristics of Women’s Lives during the Song Dynasty.” In: Tao Jie, Zheng Bijun and Shirley L. Mow, eds. Holding Up Half the Sky. Chinese Women Past, Present, and Future. New York: Feminist Press at the City University of New York, 2004, pp. 17–29. Zheng Guangyi 鄭光儀, ed. Zhongguo lidai cainü shige jianshang cidian 中國歷 代才女詩歌鑒賞辭典. Zhongguo gongren chubanshe, 1991.

Gunilla Lindberg-Wada

On the Seashore in Japanese Classical Poetry – The Innermost of the Human Heart Abstract: The seashore constitutes the core of a rich cluster of imagery in classical Japanese love poetry. Located in the innermost part of the bay, the seashore (ura) relates to that which is behind the surface, hidden – like the heart (ura). Focused on the seashore imagery this article investigates how poetic imagery is developed, exploited, and redeveloped in intertextual interaction.

Introduction Clusters of imagery and connotations that are developed, exploited, and redeveloped in the intertextual interaction between poets reverberate in Japanese pre-modern poetry. The seashore, ura, constitutes the core of a rich cluster of imagery in classical Japanese love poetry that will be investigated in this article. Located in the innermost part of the bay, the seashore (ura 浦), suggests that which is behind the surface, hidden – like the heart (ura 心). The smoke from the salt-makers’ fires on the shore, the seaweeds, the waves approaching and receding – in my article I will investigate how they are transformed into a poeticised landscape of love poetry, rich in connotations. The poems discussed here are predominantly from Kokin wakashū (A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern), hereafter referred to by its abbreviated name Kokinshū, which forms part of a tradition of vernacular Japanese poetry that developed parallel, and in dialogue, with poetry composition in classical Chinese in China and Japan, with the imperial court in today’s Kyoto as the cultural centre. It was compiled in Japan in the first decade of the tenth century by imperial command and set the standard for poetry collections for centuries to come. “It is well known that Japanese poetry has an unusually high proportion of images drawn from nature,” Robert Brower and Earl Miner observe in their seminal work on Japanese court poetry, and propose a number of possible reasons for this in the following terms: We have noticed the sensory nature of Japanese nouns and the characteristic particularity of Japanese thought and expression. In addition, an altered or redefined animistic impulse from the Shinto religion has continued to survive in Japanese culture, giving nature an attraction and an emotional value reflected in everyday life as much as in poetry. Another factor is a more sophisticated and philosophical concept, coming from a mingled

154

Gunilla Lindberg-Wada

Buddhism and Taoism, of the oneness of all natural life, which gives what we call external nature a closeness and relevance to human nature that is not found in Western cultures, shaped as they are by various dualisms between spirit and matter, man and nature, and the like. Finally, there is the example and prestige of Chinese poetry, whose use of natural images has at times played an important role in shaping the Japanese tradition.1

However, besides experts of Japanese literature, the very construction of the imagery used has not yet received much attention in the West. It offers a vast field of exploration in itself, since the elements of the imagery constitute intricate semantic, cognitive and phonetic patterns according to well-established traditions of poetics that cannot automatically be defined according to Western modern theory. For instance, Kubota Utsubo observes that there are a large number of poems in which human matters and Nature fuse into one unit with no distinct boundary between the two. He argues that this is not what is usually meant by the term metaphor, since in a metaphoric expression one part becomes primary while the other becomes secondary, whereas in Kokinshū the two parts constitute one fused unit where neither part is primary or secondary to the other.2 And Brower and Miner using “a critical method adapted from modern Western literary studies”3 seem to reach a similar conclusion: […] the Kokinshū poet tends to assimilate the metaphorical vehicle into the emotional tenor. The result, for the poetry of this period, is that most of the metaphors are fused with other elements of the poem, not isolated by division into preface and statement. The typical poem of the age employs a simile, a metaphor, or an allegory in which the poem is not divided, in which the immediacy of subjective response to a stimulus is more instantaneous.4

In other words, Japanese imagery seems to follow more or less different rules, thus providing a case for negating decontextualisation in its abstract form. The aim of this article is therefore to present some key constituents of classical Japanese tropes and figures from an emic perspective, analysing a selected choice of poems with the help of traditional Japanese definitions of the rhetorical devices. The rhetorical devices to be dealt with are: the kakekotoba (pivot-word); the engo (“associated words”); joshi (“preface”); and honkadori (intertextual allusive 1 Robert H. Brower and Earl Miner, Japanese Court Poetry (Stanford CA: Stanford University Press, 1961), p. 15. 2 In the introductory chapter to his annotated edition of Kokinshū in two volumes. Kubota Utsubo, Kokin wakashū hyōshaku, Volume One (Tokyo: Tokyodo, 1941 [1935]), pp. 12–13. 3 Brower & Miner, Court Poetry, “Preface,” p. vii. 4 Brower & Miner, Court Poetry, p. 207.

On the Seashore in Japanese Poetry

155

variations). The poems are from Kokinshū.5 In addition one poem from Shinkokin wakashū (New Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern, hereafter referred to by its abbreviated name Shinkokinshū) has been included as a specific example of allusion and intertextuality. Shinkokinshū was compiled by imperial command in 1205.

The Setting From the beginning of the eighth century it is documented that poetry composition played an important role in social life at the imperial court in Japan, where the Chinese Classics, the Buddhist sutras, and renowned anthologies of poetry in Chinese and Japanese constituted the common frame of reference. The earliest extant collections of poetry date from the middle of the eighth century: Kaifūsō (Fond Recollections of Poetry) in Sino-Japanese,6 and Man’yōshū (The Ten thousand Leaves) in the vernacular. They were followed by a rich flora of official and private poetry collections, with the first half of the ninth century as the heyday of poetry composition in Sino-Japanese, and the “golden age” of literature in the vernacular from the beginning of the tenth century onwards. This does not mean, however, that poetry in the vernacular replaced poetry in Sino-Japanese. As a rule they would be recited on different occasions, yet often by the same poets, who were part of a closely-knit community of men and women who were often authors, readers, and critics in one and the same person. Contacts with China were lively, with a number of official embassies including scholars and monks sent to China for studies from the seventh through the ninth centuries. The poetry of the Six Dynasties in China constituted an important source of inspiration for poetry composition in Sino-Japanese, particularly of the Liang (502–557) and Chen (557–589) dynasties in the south. When some books with poetry by Bai Juyi (772–846) were imported from China in 838, it created a boom that had such an enormous impact on writing in Japan that some scholars even speak of a before and after Bai Juyi, even though the Six Dynasties’ style

5 My reference work has been Takeoka Masao, Kokin wakashū zenhyōshaku (Tokyo: Ubun shoin, 1976), which includes comments from earlier annotated versions. 6 By “Sino-Japanese” I refer to a written language based on the classical language of China by authors with Japanese as their mother tongue. Cf. John Timothy Wixted, “Kambun, Histories of Japanese Literature, and Japanologists,” in: The New Historicism and Japanese Literary Studies: Proceedings of the Midwest Association for Japanese Literary Studies, ed. Eiji Sekine (West Lafayette IN: Midwest Association for Japanese Literary Studies, 1998), p. 313.

156

Gunilla Lindberg-Wada

continued to serve as an important reference for Sino-Japanese poetry composition even after he was introduced. Text production in Sino-Japanese and in the vernacular has a long history of co-existence in Japan. We get a good glimpse of the nature of this relationship in Wiebke Denecke’s comparative study of the relationship between ancient Greece and Rome, on the one hand, and between China and Japan, on the other, when she characterises the early Japanese elite as: monolingual—with the exception of very few individuals who came from the continent or studied in China for a long time, Japanese could not speak Chinese; their education was tricanonical—including the Chinese canon, and the growing Sino-Japanese and vernacular Japanese canons; and their literary production was biliterate—they produced texts in both Sino-Japanese and the vernacular, and many genre-dependent hybrid idioms in between.7

Chinese was the language of writing, learning, science, and governance, and it also formed the basis for the writing system in Japan, although Chinese and Japanese are in no way related languages. No textual evidence prior to the introduction of texts in Chinese into Japan has been found. In Man’yōshū, mentioned above, an intricate system of using Chinese characters in a combination of logographical and phonographic use was employed for recording poems composed in the vernacular in written form. In time writings in Chinese were gradually domesticated, as it were, by reading them in Japanese. By the beginning of the ninth century a system of marginal annotations for the decipherment of Chinese began to be devised, which grew into a sophisticated standardised system that made it possible to read Chinese in its Japanese transformation. By the middle of the century two phonetic syllabic scripts had been established. One was derived from abbreviated Chinese characters using part of the character for indicating the pronunciation of Chinese words or for making notes. The other was based on the Chinese character as a whole in cursive script and was used for writing texts in the vernacular. This opened up a broad spectrum of possible styles and genres of writing, ranging from Sino-Japanese to the vernacular. The ninth century was evidently a time of experimenting in poetry composition, and of adopting and incorporating Chinese rhetorical devices, conceptual constructs, themes, and subjects into Japanese poetry in the vernacular. Three anthologies of Sino-Japanese poetry were compiled in the first half of the century, sponsored by Emperor Saga (786–842; r. 809–823), whose daughter, Princess 7 Wiebke Denecke, Classical World Literatures: Sino-Japanese and Greco-Roman Comparisons (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), p. 46. Emphasis in the original.

On the Seashore in Japanese Poetry

157

Uchiko (807–847), incidentally was a highly praised author of Sino-Japanese poetry. In Ryōunshū (Cloud-Borne Collection, 814), the first imperially sponsored poetry anthology in Japan, the poems were ordered according to the rank of their authors, with emperors first and low-ranking courtiers last. Most of the poems followed the elaborate Tang rules for tonal patterns and were thus in the contemporary Chinese style. When Bunka shūreishū (Collection of Literary Masterpieces) was compiled four years later in the same poetic style, the poems were instead classified by theme under headings adopted from a Chinese anthology compiled around 530, Selections of Refined Literature (Wen xuan). Classification by theme was later to become normative in anthologies of Japanese poetry in the vernacular.

Kokinshū With Kokinshū, a collection of Japanese poems in the vernacular was for the first time compiled by imperial command. The exact date of completion is not clear, but it is generally assumed that it was completed between 905 at the earliest and 914 at the latest. Through the compilation of this work the position of poetry in the vernacular was secured in public life, and the pattern was set for the twenty Emperor-sponsored anthologies to follow – the last of which was completed in 1439. Kokinshū has two prefaces: one in the Japanese vernacular by Ki no Tsurayuki, one of the four highly renowned court poets who were commissioned to compile the work, and another one in Sino-Japanese, which is attributed to Ki no Yoshimochi. There is no conclusive evidence regarding which one of the two prefaces preceded the other, but their contents are similar. The preface written by Ki no Tsurayuki is the first known example of critical writing in the Japanese vernacular using the cursive syllabic script. In his discussion of types of poetry he employed categories and terms from “The Great Preface” to the Mao edition of the Chinese Classic The Book of Songs (Shijing). However, he also introduced indigenous terms of poetry criticism in his analysis, such as kotoba (詞 “that which has been expressed by an affected poet—language, materials, subjects; so also the literary expression.”), kokoro (心 “the capacity for being affected, the conception resulting, and the informing cognitive element.”), and sugata (姿 “the cognitive outlines of a poem, […] expressing in a metaphor of form some of the features of kokoro and kotoba but implying also a constituent whole. It designates the individual poetic result in terms of the classical affective-expressive poets.”).8 The poetry of Kokinshū became the basis for the evaluation of poetry: for 8 Earl Miner, Hiroko Odagiri and Robert E. Morrell, The Princeton Companion to Classical Japanese Literature (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1985), p. 285, p. 284, p. 299.

158

Gunilla Lindberg-Wada

a praiseworthy sugata the poet was to use the “old kotoba” (basically the kotoba of Kokinshū), but with “new kokoro.” The great majority of the one thousand one hundred and eleven poems that Kokinshū comprises are “short poems” (tanka), consisting of thirty-one syllables in five lines of five, seven, five, seven, seven syllables of one mora each. The time of composition varies, from the middle of the eighth to the beginning of the tenth century. Regardless of author or time of composition, the compilers arranged the poems into twenty volumes by general categories with titles such as “Spring,” “Summer,” “Autumn,” “Winter,” “Felicitations,” “Partings,” “Travel,” and “Love.” Within these categories they further arranged the poems progressively by topics, motifs, and themes. In the volumes of the four seasons, for example, there is a progression from the first ice melting in spring through the blossoming of the plum trees, the cherry blossoms, the flower petals falling, the first cuckoo and lonesome brooding in the heat of summer, the moonlight and red leaves in the mountains of autumn, and the deep snow in winter. And through the five volumes of love poetry, every possible nuance of a love story meets the reader in progressive form, from love at a distance, difficulties in getting a chance to meet, secret meetings, longing, and unrequited love, to disappointment, bitterness, and loneliness. By the compilation of Kokinshū a language of poetry was established where the world of natural phenomena was infused by human emotion, poetic connotations, and clusters of imagery that formed the basis and norm for a rich poetry tradition of creation, recreation, transformation, and intertextual allusive variations. This was a poetry tradition separate from the Chinese one. It had its roots in Man’yōshū, mentioned above, and beyond, yet developed parallel with the Sino-Japanese poetry tradition in Japan and with Chinese poetry as one source of inspiration. There is no fixed way of rendering the poems in writing in Japanese. In printed modern editions of the poems they are usually printed in one straight line without divisions, and in calligraphic versions the calligrapher may divide the poem into two or three units depending on individual choice and interpretation. In my transcriptions of the poems I have generally transcribed them using modern spelling, marked the lines in the Japanese version with a slash for convenience’s sake, and divided the poems into two or three units as I find suitable. I have used the modified Hepburn system of transcription, with a macron marking long vowels. The translations into English are my own when not otherwise stated.9

9 For the purposes of this article I have tried to keep my translations as closely as possible to the wording and structure of the Japanese original, yet disregarding the syllabic pattern.

On the Seashore in Japanese Poetry

159

Rhetorical Devices Besides general rhetorical devices of poetry, we find some specific ones in the Kokinshū poems discussed in this article that need some explanation: kakekotoba, engo and joshi. We will also find that since in Japanese the subject or object of a sentence need not be stated when implied by the context, the poet has full freedom to exploit the possibility of creating the multiple readings engendered by this. The example poems are from Kokinshū.

Kakebotoba – the pivot-word Kakekotoba is a sort of homonymic or polysemic punning, where the double meaning of a word or part of a word is exploited. Since the Japanese language is rich in homonyms, this rhetorical device abounds in possibilities and is exploited in various ways. In English it is often translated as “pivot-word,” because it is used as a pivot between two series of sounds with overlapping syntactical and semantic patterns; this translation of the term will be used in this article. The following poem is an example of a highly intricate use of pivot-words, by one of the most famous female poets of classical poetry. Miscellaneous Forms, Poem No. 1030, Ono no Komachi (fl. ca. 833–857) hito ni awan tsuki no naki ni wa / omohiokite munehashiribi ni / kokoro yakeori no moon lights the night nor can I meet my lover my blazing passion wakens me my pounding heart shoots flame then turns to cinders10

In the second line tsuki no naki ni wa (“when there is no tsuki”) we find the pivotword tsuki, which means “chance” or “moon.” Combined with hito ni awan (“to meet my lover”) in the first line as an attribute we read “when there is no chance to meet my lover,” but the pivot-word immediately adds an overlapping image, “when there is no moon.” The third line consists of the pivot-word omohiokite, a verb compound comprising omohi, “longing [for my beloved/you],” and okite, “staying awake.” I have 10 Translation quoted from Kokinshū: A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern, trans. and annot. Laurel Rasplica Rodd with Mary Catherine Henkenius (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1984).

160

Gunilla Lindberg-Wada

transcribed omohi according to pre-modern spelling (the modern one being omoi), because only then do we catch the “fire” (hi) that is incorporated in the “longing” (omohi) and further developed into “embers” (oki) in okite, thus also adding a dimension of time, I believe. The fourth line consists of the pivot-word munehashiribi plus the particle ni, comprising mune (“breast”) + hashiri (“running”) = munehashiri, “[my] pounding heart,” on the one hand, and hashiri (“running”) + bi (“fire”) = hashiribi, “sparks,” on the other. By the particle ni (in this case best translated as “by”) this is connected to the fifth line, kokoro (“[my] heart”) yakeori (“is burning/is burnt [to ashes]”). This poem is far more dense and complex than most poems in its use of pivotwords, but besides demonstrating the rich possibilities of the device, I believe it also serves as a good example of the infusion of the world of natural phenomena by human emotion and poetic connotations that is so characteristic of the Kokinshū poetry.

Engo – “associated word(s)” Engo – “associated word or words” – refers to words that are closely associated to the core image of a poem, as in the following poem, where the engo comprise a group of associated words in the respect that they are all related to “water,” the common denominator of the imagery of the poem. Love, Volume 5, Poem No. 792, Ki no Tomonori (fl. ca. 850–ca. 904) Mizu no awa no kiede ukimi to / iinagara nagarete nao mo / tanomaruru ka na Like the foam floats on the water without vanishing, unhappy, I live on though drifting on the stream I keep clinging to my hope

This poem is typical of the poems in Love, Volume Five, where we find the last stage of the implied fictive love story starting from love at a distance in Love Volume One. The woman has obviously refused to grant the poet a visit, but he will not give up, but begs the lady of his heart to receive him once again. In the poem “water” (mizu), “foam” (awa), “without vanishing” (kiede), “floats” (uki in ukimi), and “drifting [on the stream]” (nagarete) are all engo – they are associated words since they are related to water, the core of the imagery of the poem. In addition, nagarete is used as a pivot-word, employing the double meaning of “live on” and “drifting [on the stream],” as well as ukimi, which may be understood

On the Seashore in Japanese Poetry

161

both as “I float” (literally “[my] floating body”) and “I am unhappy” (literally “unhappy me”). As indicated in the English translation, the first two lines may be interpreted as a simile.

Joshi – “preface” Joshi (“preface”) is an introductory statement that leads on to the core of the poem by way of a pivot-word, sound similarities, implied metaphorical relationship, or a simile, as in the following poem: Love, Volume 1, Poem No. 500, Anonymous Natsu nareba / yado ni fusuburu / kayaribi no itsu made wa ga mi / shitamoe wo sen Like the smouldering fire in my house to drive off the mosquitoes in summer for how long must I go on to burn for you in secret?

In this poem the “preface” consists of the first three lines in the Japanese version (Natsu nareba / yado ni fusuburu / kayaribi no), and the first phrase of the English version (Like the smouldering fire in my house to drive off the mosquitoes in summer), which lead on to the core of the poem by way of a simile. As is the case here, poems employing joshi are often constructed as a poetic image in the first three lines, followed by the message, as it were, expressed in fairly straightforward language in the last two lines. No pivot-words are involved here, but fusuburu (“smouldering”), kayaribi (“fire to drive off the mosquitoes”), and shitamoe (“burn in secret,” literally “burn underneath [the surface]”) are engo – associated words, with shitamoe furthermore metaphorically expressing feelings of passion and longing.

Honkadori – intertextual allusive variations Kokinshū was followed by a period of lively experimentation in poetic expression, this time of creating poetry employing the “old kotoba” of Kokinshū with “new kokoro” in focus.11 Intertextual interaction with earlier poetry and contemporary poets played an important role in this process, where honkadori (allusive variations) gradually became a predominant device in poetry composition with the images and clusters of connotations of the poem or poems alluded to reverberating in the new poem. Adherence to precedence in the interpretation of each poetic topic was the guiding principle, and the poet needed to grasp the “essence” of the topic and poem or poems alluded to in order to combine correctly reused 11 Cf. “The Setting,” subsection “Kokinshū.”

162

Gunilla Lindberg-Wada

materials and emotive expression in the new poem. The following poem by Fujiwara no Teika, one of the compilers of Shinkokinshū and a prominent poet of his time, provides an ideal example of honkadori: Shinkokinshū, Autumn, Volume 1, No. 420, Fujiwara no Teika (1162–1241) samushiro ya matsu yo no aki no / kaze fukete tsuki wo katashiku / uji no hashihime The chill of the straw mat! waiting as the night deepens with the autumn wind she spreads out one layer of moonlight, the Princess of Uji Bridge

Already the first word evokes a famous poem of old times, and the last line confirms that this is an allusive variation of the following Kokinshū poem. Love, Volume 4, No. 689, Anonymous samushiro ni koromo katashiki / koyoi mo ya ware wo matsuran / uji no hashihime On the chilly straw mat spreading out one layer of clothing maybe also tonight is she waiting for me my Princess of Uji Bridge

In addition to the Kokinshū poem, images and fragments from poems of other collections and literary works that formed a part of the frame of reference of the poets of the time are evoked in Teika’s poem. Each element of the poem evokes scenes, images, and connotations of previous works, which reverberate and linger on. The words and phrases constitute only a small part of Teika’s poem – the main part is what they imply. Samushiro, a (probably) narrow and thin straw mat, as a pivotword also stands for “cold” (samushi). Matsu (“waiting”) evokes love poetry in general – from longing for a first meeting, through impatiently waiting for the day to end, to bitterly waiting for a lover who never turns up. Yo (“the night”) evokes long hours of waiting or of solitary contemplation while the night deepens (fukete). Aki (“autumn”), the season of long dark nights with a touch of melancholy (yet too short when lovers meet), with the autumn wind (aki no kaze) heard outside, also evokes (the wind of) abandonment, since aki, read as a pivot-word, stands for “getting tired [of a person].” Katashiku/katashiki (“spreading out one layer [of clothing]”) implies sleeping alone as well as the chill of the lonely night, since there would be two layers of clothing to spread out for a cover if the lover had arrived. Abundant tears of longing and sorrow drench the sleeves of many an unhappy

On the Seashore in Japanese Poetry

163

man and woman in love poetry, to the degree that the moon (tsuki) may be mirrored or moonlight (tsuki) be reflected therein. Finally, by the age of Shinkokinshū, “the Princess of Uji Bridge” may be expected to evoke in the reader’s or listener’s mind also the atmosphere and connotations of the last ten chapters of the famous fictional tale Genji monogatari (The Tale of Genji) – the “Uji chapters” – named from the place where crucial events take place in this part of the tale.

A Fictive Love Story Evolving on the Seashore Now, let’s follow the imagery of the seashore through the course of the implied fictive love story that evolves through the five volumes of love poetry in Kokinshū. Since volumes one and two are still filled with expectations and hope, we won’t find the imagery of the seashore exploited there; it belongs to the middle and latter part of the love story, to Love Volumes Three, Four and Five. In Volume Three we find the poems from the middle stage of the love story, of meetings, hours of waiting, and refusals. The man would visit the woman by night and leave before daybreak in order not to stir rumours, since the love affair was to be kept secret – at least in the world of poetry. Poems would constitute the means of communication between the meetings, such as poem exchanges the day after, requests for a meeting, refusals, or reflections on the love affair. The man sending the following poem has obviously had some successful meetings with the lady of his heart, but has not been allowed a visit for some time, probably because of some inconvenience on her part rather than unwillingness (since the compilers have placed the poem in the context of Love Volume Three; otherwise we would have found it in Love Volume Four or Five). This is a poem that fits in fairly well with the concept of metaphor, I believe; at least it allows two separate readings, dividing it into tenor and vehicle, albeit with pivot-words increasing the complexity of the metaphoric language. Love Volume 3, No. 626, Ariwara no Motokata (fl. ca. 900) Topic unknown au koto no / nagisa ni shi yoru / nami nareba uramite nomi zo / tachiakaerikeru Since this is a wave that approaches but the water’s edge without a meeting each time it merely catches a glimpse of the shore, only to recede

A different choice of subject generates a separate reading: Since I am a wave that approaches but the water’s edge without a meeting I have returned home filled with resentment

164

Gunilla Lindberg-Wada

Pivot-words in this poem are nagisa (“the water’s edge” and “without” in “without a meeting”) and uramite (“catch a glimpse of the shore” and “[being] filled with resentment”). The verb uramu (“resent”) with inflected forms such as uramite or urami, was in the popular etymology interpreted as consisting of ura ([the innermost part of the] heart), and mite (see), thus generating the double meaning of uramite as “seeing the seashore” and “seeing [the innermost part of the] heart,” Since the verb uramu means “resent,” uramite or urami, “seeing the innermost part of the heart [of the beloved, who has obviously fallen out of love],” mostly belongs to the latter part of the love relationship when the poet realises that the beloved one has lost interest in the poet, thus filling the poet with resentment and bitterness. Not all poems of the seashore express resentment. There are also poems of sweet longing, like the following one, probably sent by the poet to his beloved one on the morning after a successful meeting. Love Volume 3, No. 665, Kiyohara no Fukayabu (fl. ca. 900) Topic unknown mitsu shio no / nagare hiruma wo / aigatami mirume no ura ni / yoru wo koso mate While the rising tide ebbs away in daytime it is difficult to meet, therefore, our meeting tonight is what I’m waiting for with the seaweeds approaching the shore

In this poem a cluster of imagery closely connected to water, the sea and the seashore, is combined with an intricate use of pivot-words that fuses natural phenomena and human emotion into a complex unit. Hiruma stands both for “while (the rising tide) ebbs away” and “in daytime,” yoru stands for “approach” and “night,” and mirume for “seaweed” and “our meeting.” In order to avoid similes, which are absent in the original, I have chosen to place the double meanings side by side in my translation; in the original they are tightly intertwined and can only be read as such. In Volume Four of the love poems, the happy moments are gradually replaced by feelings of suspicion and uncertainly. In the following poem the poet hints that he has understood that someone else has become the object of the addressee’s love. Love, Volume 4, No. 708, Anonymous Topic unknown suma no ama no / shio yaku keburi / kaze wo itami omowanu kata ni / tanabiki ni keri The smoke rising from the fires of the salt-makers at Suma yielding to the gale has swayed off in an unexpected direction

On the Seashore in Japanese Poetry

165

The poem depicts a familiar scene of the seashore. It is a rather uncomplicated poem of metaphors, where “the smoke” (keburi) stands for “feelings [of love],” and the “yielding to the gale” (kaze wo itami) might be interpreted as “giving in to the pressure [from people around her/you],” or as simply expressing how suddenly feelings may change. By the choice of the Suma seashore, the famous story of exile connected to this place adds to the poetic qualities of the poem. The famous poem that put the seashore of Suma12 on the map of poetry is not really a love poem, so it was placed by the compilers in one of the two volumes of miscellaneous poems of Kokinshū. The author, Ariwara no Yukihira, was a poet and courtier. He was to a considerable degree involved in court affairs, becoming a middle counsellor (chūnagon) and head of the bureau of civil affairs after holding other appointments before he was exiled for political reasons. Miscellaneous, Volume 2, No. 962, Ariwara no Yukihira (818–893) Sent to someone at the palace when he was living in exile at Suma in Tsu Province during the reign of the Tamura Emperor [Montoku, r. 850–858.] wakuraba ni / tou hito araba suma no ura ni moshio taretsutsu / wabu to kotaeyo If perchance some one would happen to ask about me please answer that I am leading a wretched life on the seashore of Suma dripping salt water from the seaweeds, shedding tears

Although not a love poem, ura, “the seashore,” nevertheless may slightly hint at resentment, this time towards the authorities and the poet’s friends and enemies at court. In the pivot-word moshio taretsutsu we find “the seaweeds (mo) salt (shio) dripping (taretsutsu) and “shedding tears” (shiotaretsutsu). Dripping salt water from the seaweeds constituted one stage in the process of burning salt on the seashore. The combination of the famous poet Yukihira and the poeticised seashore became a powerful image that has inspired not only poetry and drama such as the nō play Matsukaze (Pining Wind) about two salt-makers on the Suma shore, who turn out to be the ghosts of two sisters longing for Yukihira, their lover of three hundred years ago, to come back,13 but also fictional accounts of exile. In, for example, Genji monogatari (The Tale of Genji) by Murasaki Shikibu, a fictional 12 Located near Suma Ward in Kobe City of today. 13 Cf. Royall Tyler, Pining Wind: A Cycle of Noh Plays (Ithaca NY: Cornell University East Asia Papers, 1978).

166

Gunilla Lindberg-Wada

narrative from the beginning of the eleventh century, the protagonist Prince Genji is exiled to Suma for political reasons. When he sets out on his voyage to Suma this is described in the following terms: “The place they were heading for was near the abode where Yukihira once led a wretched life dripping salt water from the seaweeds, shedding tears.”14 Also in a description of the situation at Suma later on in the tale Yukihira and his poetry are alluded to: “At Suma, although the sea was at some distance, the waves hurled by the wind of very sentimental autumn in the bay – those waves which Yukihira once would have described as being hurled across the barriers – could be heard as if they were quite near by night.”15 Returning to the chronology of the fictive love story of Kokinshū, the next poem is one of refusal. Love, Volume 4, No. 727, Ono no Komachi Topic unknown ama no sumu / sato no shirube ni / aranaku ni uramin to nomi / hito no iuran I am no guide to the hamlets where fishermen live Why do you insist on a view of the seashore, why these reproaches?

The poem is built up around the pivot-word uramin, one reading of which is as the object ura, “the seashore,” followed by the verb form min, “wanting to/intending to see” (from miru, “see”). The other reading is as the verb form uramin, “will resent” (from uramu, “resent”), in the poem here translated as “reproaches.” This poem is obviously written as an answer to a poem where the man has told her that he will resent her (uramin) if she does not allow him a visit. As the site of so much love poetry, wanting to see the seashore (uramin) suffices to imply a request for a lovers meeting, and activates the whole range of connotations of the emotive landscape of the seashore image. In Volume Five, we gradually approach the end of the fictive love story. In the next poem we meet a woman who has probably been waiting longingly for her lover for days or weeks, only to get disappointed by his detached attitude when he actually arrives.

14 おはすべき所は、行平の中納言の「藻潮たれつつわび」ける家居、近きわた りなりけり。 Murasaki Shikibu, Genji monogatari, ed. Yamagishi Tokuhei, Nihon koten bungaku taikei, Vol. 15 (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1974 [1959]), p. 30. 15 須磨には、いとど心づくしの秋風に、海はすこしとほけれど、行平の中納 言の「關ふき越ゆる」と言ひけむ浦波、夜夜は、げに、いと近う聞こえて、 Murasaki, Genji, p. 38.

On the Seashore in Japanese Poetry

167

Love, Volume 5, No. 755, Anonymous Topic unknown ukime nomi / oite nagaruru / ura nareba kari ni nomi koso / ama wa yorurame Since this is a seashore where but drifting seaweeds grow, following the streams, where but sadness grows and tears flow, do the fishermen come here only for harvesting, and you visit me just for the sake of it

By way of pivot-words this poem may be read on two separate, yet tightly intertwined, levels – in the translation spelled out interchangeably. Ukime stands for “drifting seaweeds” and “sadness”; nagaruru stands for “following the streams” and “tears flow”; kari ni stands for “for harvesting” and “for the sake of it.” Ura may be read as a metaphor of “me” (the poet) or “my place,” and ama, “the fisherman,” for “you” (the addressee). With the next poem, by a female poet, we have reached the end of the fictive love story of the seashore: Love, Volume 5, No. 807, Fujiwara no Naoiko (fl. ca. 876–902) Topic unknown ama no karu / mo ni sumu mushi no ware kara to ne wo koso nakame / yo wo ba uramiji Like the skeleton shrimp that lives in the seaweed the fishermen harvest by name “it’s my own fault” I will certainly cry out loud, but not resent the world

This poem is built up around the image of warekara, the “skeleton shrimp.” The skeleton shrimp, also called the “specter shrimp” (Caprelliadae), lives in the seaweed and emits a shrieking noise. In the poem it is used both as a simile and as a pivot word – besides “skeleton shrimp” warekara means, “it’s my own fault.” The seashore, ura, reverberates in the last word, uramiji, “(I will) not resent.” Yo, “the world,” implies the world of love relationships, but may in the poem also be understood simply as “you.” The image of the skeleton shrimp was quite popular; it appears also in other poems expressing the same kind of situation.

Conclusion In this article some key constituents, tropes and figures in classical Japanese vernacular poetry were presented from an emic perspective, analysing a selected choice of poems with the help of traditional Japanese definitions of the rhetorical

168

Gunilla Lindberg-Wada

devices. Once such an analysis of a larger scope has been made, it may be further developed as a tool for relating the indigenous rules to modern Western tropical theory: How are Japanese tropes and figures related to concepts such as metaphor, metonymy, symbol and juxtaposition?

Bibliography Brower, Robert H. and Earl Miner. Japanese Court Poetry. Stanford CA: Stanford University Press, 1961. Denecke, Wiebke. Classical World Literatures: Sino-Japanese and Greco-Roman Comparisons. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. Kokinshū: A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern. Trans. and annot. Laurel Rasplica Rodd with Mary Catherine Henkenius. Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1984. Kubota Utsubo 窪田空穂. Kokin wakashū hyōshaku jō 古今和歌集評釈上 [A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern with Annotations, Vol. 1]. Tokyo: Tokyodo, 1941 [1935]. Miner, Earl, Hiroko Odagiri and Robert E. Morrell. The Princeton Companion to Classical Japanese Literature. Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1985. Murasaki Shikibu 紫式部. Genji monogatari 源氏物語 [The Tale of Genji], ed. Yamagishi Tokuhei 山岸徳平. Nihon koten bungaku taikei, Vol. 15. Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1974 [1959]. Shinkokin wakashū 新古今和歌集 [New Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern]. Annot. Hisamatsu Sen’ichi, Yamazaki Toshio and Gotō Shigeo 久松潜 一、山崎敏夫、後藤重郎. Nihon koten bungaku taikei, Vol. 28. Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1975 [1958]. Takeoka Masao 竹岡正夫. Kokin wakashū zenhyōshaku 古今和歌集全評釈 [A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern with Complete Annotations]. Tokyo: Ubun shoin, 1976. Tyler, Royall. Pining Wind: A Cycle of Noh Plays. Ithaca NY: Cornell University East Asia Papers, 1978. Wixted, John Timothy. “Kambun, Histories of Japanese Literature, and Japanologists.” In: The New Historicism and Japanese Literary Studies: Proceedings of the Midwest Association for Japanese Literary Studies, ed. Eiji Sekine. West Lafayette, IN: Midwest Association for Japanese Literary Studies, 1998.

Stina Jelbring

Expansions of Metaphor in Classical Japanese Court Literature Abstract: This paper deals with metaphor and the ways it may be expanded conceptually. The expansion of metaphor is used partly for concepts that are not obviously understood in terms of metaphor and partly for extended metaphors, i.e., metaphors that expand to include whole narratives. In this survey it is allusion that is tested both as metaphor and extended metaphor. Examples are taken from classical Japanese literature.

Introduction This paper deals with metaphor and explores the ways in which it may be expanded conceptually.1 Metaphor can be defined differently depending on which vantage point one chooses to view it from, but as this paper deals specifically with metaphor in texts – or more exactly, literary texts – a definition suitable for that kind of language seems in order. One such definition is offered by Andrew Goatly, who is primarily a representative of the comparative view of metaphor. This view shows some similar traits with the rhetoric tradition of metaphor, in the sense that the comparative or analogy/similarity argument forms an essential part of it. Aristotle (384–322 BC), undoubtedly its best-known representative, describes metaphor in his Poetics from the middle of the 300s BC as something that happened to the noun. He defined it in terms of movement, a movement from something to another, a transposition, further characterised as a transposition of an “alien” name,2 and this transposition may be carried out by analogy/similarity.3 In a similar way, Goatly’s theory is concerned with the various processes between literal and metaphor. He maintains that what distinguishes literal language from metaphorical language is that in literal language we stick to conventional

1 The research behind this paper was funded by The Swedish Central Bank’s Jubilee Fund. I am deeply grateful to the Jubilee Fund for its generous support. 2 Paul Ricoeur, The Rule of Metaphor: Multi-disciplinary Studies of the Creation of Meaning in Language, trans. Robert Czerny with Kathleen McLaughlin and John Costello (London and Henly: Routlegde and Kegan Paul, 1977. French edition: Édition de Seuil, 1975), pp. 16–18. 3 Stephen Halliwell, The Poetics of Aristotle: Translation and Commentary (Chapel Hill NC: The University of North Carolina Press, 1987), p. 55.

170

Stina Jelbring

criteria for classification, while in metaphorical use we employ unconventional criteria such as similes and analogies.4 His definition of metaphor thus runs in brief as follows: “metaphor occurs when a unit of discourse is used to refer unconventionally to an object, process or concept, or colligates in an unconventional way. And when this unconventional act of reference or colligation is understood on the basis of similarity, matching or analogy […].”5 From here we may also picture for ourselves an expansion of this concept, so as to apply it to an expanded field of reference. More exactly, this concerns an expansion in the sense that it is used for concepts that are not obviously understood in terms of metaphor or for so-called extended metaphors, i.e., metaphors that expand to include whole narratives. In this paper the concept that is not obviously understood in terms of metaphor is allusion, and one kind of allusion included in this survey is that which expands into a narrative as an extended metaphor. By interpreting allusion as metaphor, through the theory of metaphor, it is freed from the diachronic aspect, and the methodological focus is shifted from temporal aspects and whichever text influenced the others, to the texts themselves and the reader. Furthermore, we see a simultaneous evocation of two or more texts or text domains by which the meaning is expanded and transferred. Allusion, as well as intertextuality, then becomes not only a pure reference to a source-text, but along with the interplaying texts, an interactive part. Moreover, I also address the problem of so-called elegant confusion, a poetic technique used in Chinese and Japanese poetry for a feigned confusion or surprise, as this may also be discussed in terms of metaphor. As a point of departure for this investigation, two literary sources from Japan are examined: the early tenth-century poetic anthology the Kokin wakashū (A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern) and the Genji monogatari (The Tale of Genji) from the eleventh century. The former is a collection of classical Japanese poetry (waka) in the metrics of 5-7-5-7-7 moræ, while the latter one, the Genji monogatari, is a fictional narrative attributed to a female writer known as 4 Andrew Goatly, The Language of Metaphors (London: Routledge, 1997), pp. 108–09. 5 As a whole, Goatly’s definition of metaphor reads as follows: “A metaphor occurs when a unit of discourse is used to refer to an object, concept, process, quality, relationship or world to which it does not conventionally refer, or colligates with a unit(s) with which it does not conventionally colligate; and when this unconventional act of reference or colligation is understood on the basis of similarity or analogy involving at least two of the following: the unit’s conventional referent; the unit’s actual unconventional referent; the actual referent(s) of the unit’s actual colligate(s); the conventional referent of the unit’s conventional colligate(s).” Goatly, The Language of Metaphors, pp. 108–09.

Expansions of Metaphor in Japanese Court Literature

171

Murasaki Shikibu. The literary style of this work is characterised by a poetic prose in which poems are incorporated into the story to function as emotive climaxes, to convey the inner feelings and thoughts of the characters, and even structure the plot. There are also passages seemingly in prose, but when scrutinised more closely, they are shown to be composed in the Japanese classical poetry metrics of 5-7-5-7-7 moræ. In this way there is a formal switching between prose and poetry, as well as a functional alternation between the poetic and prosaic modes in both poetry and prose that makes the narrative extremely flexible when it comes to representational forms. There is a mixture of diegetic forms like description, reflection and comment, on the one hand, and mimetic forms like dialogue – either as exchanges of information, conversation, story-telling or literary dialogue and dialogue poems – as well as soliloquy or soliloquy poems on the other. Dialogue poems stand in contrast both to exchange poems, which are dispatched, and soliloquy poems, which may be scribbled down or murmured in loneliness or in the presence of others who do not reply. The poems thus function as both communication between people and as a way of conveying one’s feelings and thoughts. This paper focuses on two chapters in the Genji monogatari: the “Utsusemi” chapter (Chapter 3) and the “Yūgao” chapter (Chapter 4). These two chapters are in the beginning of the work and take place in the youth of the principal character Genji, a prince, although not a crown prince, as his mother’s low birth made him unsuitable of an emperor’s status. Nevertheless, he is of imperial descent. The two female characters with the sobriquets Lady Utsusemi and Lady Yūgao are both women outside of the court, who thus do not belong to Genji’s usual relations. Together they form part of Genji’s youthful experiences of women and the two stories among many others included in the whole work Genji monogatari. He happens to get to know Lady Utsusemi when he once spends the night at a friend’s house and steals into her bedchamber, and he becomes acquainted with Lady Yūgao on a trip to his wet-nurse’s house. Both these relationships end in failure. The validity of allusion as metaphor is tested in a two-step investigation: firstly, it is tested with the assistance of two models of literary allusion, which is referred to as the intertextuality viewpoint, where the latter model acts as a transition to metaphor theory. In the next step, allusion as metaphor is tested by relating intertextuality to metaphor theory.

Expansions of Metaphor “Expansion of metaphor” can be interpreted in several ways, or in at least two: firstly, as an “expansion of the concept of metaphor” and secondly as an “extended metaphor.” Expansion of the concept of metaphor means that metaphor is used

172

Stina Jelbring

in an expanded sense to include concepts that are not obviously understood in terms of metaphor. Extended metaphor, on the other hand, refers to metaphors that expand in order to, for instance, include whole narratives.6 In this paper, the expansion of metaphor shall be used in the following senses. Firstly, in the sense that the metaphoric concept is expanded to include allusion. This concept I have named allusifying metaphor. One sort of allusifying metaphor, which is the second sense in which the expansion of metaphor is used, is the case when the allusifying metaphor is extended as a projection of a poem onto a story. It may be compared to what Mark Turner has referred to as parable, but applies more specifically to the case when a poem functions as an allusifying metaphor that extends as a projection onto a story.7 In addition, there is the problem of so-called elegant confusion, a poetic technique used in Chinese and Japanese poetry for a feigned confusion or surprise, which – although not necessarily so – may also be discussed in terms of metaphor. Nevertheless, let us begin by examining two poems. One comes from the Genji monogatari while the other is found in the Kokin wakashū. 1) Kokoro ate ni 1 Sore ka to zo miru 2 Shiratsuyu no 3 Hikari soetaru 4 Yūgao no hana8 5 YG. Poem 1. Lady Yūgao.

By guess It looks like him. 2 The glistening of 4 The white dew 3 Lends beauty to 4 The flower of the Evening Visage.9 5 1

6 Cf. Bo Pettersson, “Literary Criticism Writes Back to Metaphor Theory: Exploring the Relation between Extended Metaphor and Narrative in Literature,” in: Beyond Cognitive Metaphor Theory: Perspectives on Literary Metaphor, ed. Monica Fludernik (New York & London: Routledge, 2011), pp. 94–112. 7 Mark Turner, The Literary Mind: The Origins of Thought and Language (New York & Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996), pp. 5–7; cf. 44–45. 8 yg 140: 1 こころあてにそれかとぞみる白露の光そへたる夕顔の花. 9 All translations from Japanese or other languages are mine unless stated otherwise. They are made as literal as possible in order to show the structure or expression in Japanese, and I have not aspired to make literary translations. The lowered numbers refer to the five verses. Japanese concepts, book titles, names and the like are romanised according to the modified Hepburn system, which is based on English consonants and Italian and German vowels. Long vowels are indicated by a macron. In order to make understanding easier, modern orthography has been used except when wordplay is

Expansions of Metaphor in Japanese Court Literature

173

2) A poem extolling the white chrysanthemum kokoro ate ni orabaya oramu hatsushimo no 3 okimadowaseru 4 shiragiku no hana10 5 KKS 277. Autumn II. Ōshikōchi no Mitsune.11

If I would pluck it do I have to do it by guess? The white chrysanthemum blossom 5 Bewilders us with its 4 First coating of frost. 3

1

2

2

1–2

Both the Genji monogatari and the Kokin wakashū are seminal works of the Heian period (794–1185), when classical Japanese court literature was at its height in and around the city of Kyoto, which is situated in the middle of Japan and was at that time the nation’s capital.12 At the imperial court, a refined culture developed, causing not only literature but also calligraphy, art, incense, dress and ceremonies to flourish. The poems presented above may at first sight seem unconnected, but looking a little bit closer we might discover that the first line in both poems reads “by guess” (kokoro ate ni), and that they both include a white flower, apart from one other white item. The first poem is in fact the introductory poem in a poetic exchange, dispatched by an unknown lady – later referred to as Yūgao – to the male protagonist of the tale, Genji, an emperor’s son. The circumstance under which the lady dispatches the first poem is one that is against expectation and conventional rules, and the oddness of the situation, which is pointed out already from the very beginning, shall be a recurrent element in this story. Genji reads the poem during a visit to his old nurse. It is sent on a white fan, which is handed over to Genji’s attendant by a girl from the neighbouring house when he is waiting in his carriage to be allowed in. By way of retardation, however, he does not read it until later. Then, asking for a torch, he scrutinises the fan, heavily impregnated with

involved. A hyphen is used to indicate honorific expressions such as levels of politeness and sometimes aspects of verbs. An apostrophe is used as a marker between moræ. The following abbreviations will be used: KKS=Kokin wakashū (A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern, beginning of tenth century) SKKS=Shinkokin wakashū (New Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern, ca. 1205). US=“Utsusemi” (The “Utsusemi” Chapter of the Genji monogatari, eleventh century). YG=“Yūgao” (The “Yūgao” Chapter of the Genji monogatari, eleventh century). 10 心あてに折らばや折らむ初霜のおきまどはせる白菊の花. 11 凡河躬恒 (d. ca. 925?). 12 On the island of Honshū.

174

Stina Jelbring

incense, and its calligraphy. The scent gives him a sensuous feeling. Attached is a flower, a white Evening Visage (Jap. Yūgao), a plant more or less corresponding to a Moonflower. The calligraphic style is lively, but impersonal. He finds it elegant and in good taste. Through this poem, whose theme spins around the tender white flower, a connection between Genji and Lady Yūgao is established. The glistening (Jap. hikari) may be interpreted as referring to Genji, as he is called “the shining Genji” (Jap. hikaru Genji); in this case, the glistening coincides with the glistening of the dew. The poem thus implies that the sender knows her addressee to be Genji. By “Evening Visage” the sender may at the same time be implying herself, as a woman living in the house of the winding Evening Visage. She says that the “glistening” of the dew makes the Evening Visage appear even more beautiful. The scene is set in the fourth chapter of the tale, the “Yūgao” Chapter, which takes place when Genji is but seventeen years old.13 The second poem, Poem KKS 277, on the other hand, is found in the Autumn Volume of the Kokin wakashū, extolling the white chrysanthemum blossom, which cannot be distinguished from the white frost covering it and is so bewildering as to make us resort to guesswork when plucking it. We shall in a moment investigate how Lady Yūgao’s poem alludes to Poem KKS 277, as it is not only composed against the background of the so-called “elegant confusion” of the white chrysanthemum blossom and white frost – a feigned confusion or surprise as a form of indirection – but has adopted this technique as well.14 Clearly, in both poems a bewilderment is experienced. These two poems shall serve as a point of departure for an exploration of allusion as metaphor, because the main aim of this paper is to test the validity of the concept of allusion as metaphor regarding classical Japanese texts. How Lady Yūgao’s poem alludes to Poem KKS 277 is an example of one poem alluding to a whole other poem, but for the sake of comparison and illumination, the way a poem functions as an allusifying metaphor that extends as a projection onto a story shall, as mentioned above, also be investigated with the help of another example from the Genji monogatari. A further secondary aim is to find out whether the problem of so-called elegant confusion may be discussed in terms of metaphor.

13 Murasaki Shikibu, “The Twilight Beauty,” in: The Tale of Genji, trans. Royall Tyler (New York: Viking, Penguin Ltd, 2001), pp. 53–80. 14 cf. Helen Craig McCullough, Brocade by Night: Kokin Wakashū and the Court Style in Japanese Classical Poetry (Stanford CA: Stanford University Press, 1985), p. 71.

Expansions of Metaphor in Japanese Court Literature

175

This viewpoint, of allusion as metaphor, stands in contrast to Andrew Goatly’s allusive metaphor, a metaphor that alludes.15 Below we shall closely relate the theory of intertextuality to metaphor theory. The investigation shall take place in two steps: first, we shall see how the allusion functions, with the assistance of two models of literary allusion, namely those of Ziwa Ben-Porat and Gian Biagio Conte. Next, we shall relate allusion to metaphor theory. Finally, a poetic analysis will serve to illustrate the allusifying metaphor in relation to the given literary sources.

The Intertextuality Viewpoint We shall first deal with literary allusion in the context of the theory of intertextuality, as that is the most basic point of view. Ziwa Ben-Porat speaks of a literary allusion in terms of a new text functioning as a “sign” for the previous text, a device for activating two different texts simultaneously through a manipulation of a certain signal, a sign, which is simple or complex and characterised by an additional, larger “referent.” This referent, she maintains, is always an independent text, and the result of the simultaneous activation of the two texts that are in this way related is a formation of intertextual patterns.16 The text alluded to (the reference text or source text) is actualised through a sign (what is often referred to as “the allusion”) in the alluding text. Ben-Porat also distinguishes a marker, the part of the sign, which is always identical with an element or pattern belonging to another independent text. A simplified graphic outline of Ben-Porat’s poetics may look like the illustration in the chart below. Signs as marker (as a signal of literary allusion)

Signs with marked elements in original form

Interpretation

Interpretation

Simple or complex elements; often large intra-textual patternings evoked by the allusion

Simple or complex elements; often large intratextual patternings evoked by the allusion

Returning to our poems above, we may, as does Ben-Porat, express that the first line “by guess” (kokoro ate ni) in Lady Yūgao’s poem may be the signal or sign, and that it is a marker of an allusion to Poem KKS 277, since it is identical to the first line of the reference text. According to this perspective, Poem KKS 277 is thereby 15 Andrew Goatly, The Language of Metaphors (London: Routledge, 1997), p. 166. 16 Ziwa Ben-Porat, “The Poetics of Literary Allusion,” PTL: A Journal for Descriptive Poetics and Theory of Literature, Vol. 1, No. 1 (1976), pp. 107–108.

176

Stina Jelbring

actualised. Put differently, Lady Yūgao’s poem as a whole evokes the atmosphere and situation of the reference text. Hence, in this case, one poem is the alluding text to another poem, which functions as a reference text. Reference Text (Source Text)

Alluding Text

Marker/Sign

Poem KKS 277

Yūgao’s first poem

“By guess”

On the other hand, how would the situation be if the reference text in the form of a poem were inserted as a whole into an alluding prose text? Let us, for the sake of comparison, take a brief look at another example from the same tale, but in a different chapter. Utsusemi no Ha ni oku tsuyu no Kogakurete 3 Shinobi shinobi ni 4 Nururu sode kana17 5 US. Poem 2. Lady Utsusemi/ Ise shū.

Hidden in the shadow of the trees Like the dew that has sprinkled The wings of the cicada – 1–2 So I shed lonely tears 4 In my wet sleeves 3

1

2–3

2

2

This poem, which originates from the tenth century Ise shū18 (Anthology of Poems by Lady Ise), is inserted – quoted – at the end of the third chapter in the Genji monogatari, the “Utsusemi” Chapter,19 in the form of a soliloquy poem (but dispatched as a reply), which in the story is composed by the female protagonist referred to as Lady Utsusemi (The Cicada Shell).20 Although inserted at the end of the chapter, this poem may be the source of the whole story regarding Lady Utsusemi, the wife of a governor of middling rank who, by chance, spends a night with the elegant Genji when he steals into her bedchamber. Here she wavers between showing a cold attitude towards his approaches, on the one hand, and an 17 18 19 20

US 131: 空蝉の羽に置く木がくれてしのびしのびにぬるる袖かな. 伊勢集. Murasaki Shikibu, “The Cicada Shell,” in: The Tale of Genji, pp. 45–52. There is support for this hikiuta in the commented edition of the Genji monogatari in the Shinchō nihon koten shūsei series (Genji monogatari, Part I) from 1976, p. 118, as well as in the Shin nihon koten bungaku taikei series (Volume 19) from 1993, p. 94. One scholar who has mentioned this poem as a hikiuta, an old poem that is developed into a story, is Kawazoe Fusae. See Kawazoe Fusae, “Hikiuta: Genji monogatari no isō,” in: Ronshū waka to retorikku, ed. Waka bungakkai (Tokyo: Kazama shoin, 1986), pp. 249–270. It should be mentioned, however, that the Nihon koten bungaku zenshū series (Volume 20) from 1994 takes a different stance. In page 131 there is a footnote saying that the poem is included in some – but not all – manuscripts of the Ise shū, which may be interpreted that it was, on the contrary, taken from the Genji monogatari and inserted in later manuscripts of the Ise shū.

Expansions of Metaphor in Japanese Court Literature

177

incipient love and sympathy for him on the other, all the while becoming more and more aware of her own miserable situation. The poem conveys her loneliness, despair and uncertain circumstances. Genji chases her in vain several times, and in one instance she drops her garment like “a cicada shell” while taking to flight. In classical Japanese literature one usually distinguishes between two types of allusion: honkadori (taking of a foundation poem),21 which refers to the allusion in which a whole poem alludes to one or a number of so-called “foundation poems,” and hikiuta (quoted poem),22 poetic allusion in prose that often develops into a story. Kifune Shigeaki mentions that the former, honkadori, is not infrequently defined as the intentional incorporation of the wording, thought and approach of a previous poem into the composition of a waka.23 However, he reacts to the formulation “intentional” as it may not be proved whether the incorporation was made with intention.24 Matsumura Yūji mentions that throughout the history of classical poetics as concerns waka, it has been emphasised in the device of honkadori that the so-called foundation poem and new poem should not be of the same kind or embrace a kindred idea or spirit, but rather relate in a contrastive way or stand in a relationship of tension.25 The well-known waka poet, scholar and critic Fujiwara Teika (1162–1241), even formulated certain rules for honkadori; for example, the subject of the foundation poem was to be changed, and if the foundation poem was a spring poem, the new poem should be an autumn poem.26 It is worthy noting that it was in the poetic anthology Shinkokin wakashū, of which Teika was one of its compilers, that honkadori was most fully developed and formalised as a literary concept. The latter type, hikiuta, was in the eighteenth century explained in a narrow sense in the scholarly work Genji monogatari tama no ogushi (The Tale of Genji: A Jewelled Comb, 1796) by Moto’ori Norinaga (1730–1801), one of the leading scholars of National Learning who developed the philological tradition of Genji monogatari. He explained it as a line in a work of poetic prose (monogatari), taken 21 本歌取り. 22 引歌. 23 Kifune Shigeaki, “Genji monogatari waka sakueihō: Senshōei riyō gihō no kaimei to taikeika,” in: ‘Genji monogatari’: Sono bungeiteki keisei, ed. Inaga Keiji (Hiroshima: Daigaku shoten, 1979), p. 143. 24 Kifune, “Genji monogatari waka sakueihō,” p. 143. 25 Matsumura Yūji, “Honkadori kō: Seiritsu ni kansuru nōto,” in: Ronshū waka to retorikku, ed. Waka bungakkai (Tokyo: Kazama shoin, 1986), p. 143. 26 Matsumura, “Honkadori kō,” pp. 145–46.

178

Stina Jelbring

from an old poem, whose meaning was completely incorporated or included in what follows that line in the old poem.27 He makes a further limitation to the definition by adding that the meaning of the prose passage in question has to be incomprehensive without knowledge of the old poem in order for it to be a hikiuta.28 As Ozaki Satoakira points out, an explanation of hikiuta that serves as a reminder of Moto’ori’s appears some decades later in an annotated version of Genji monogatari by another philologist and specialist of the work, namely Hagiwara Hiromichi (1815–1863).29 Even if this is already a narrow explanation of hikiuta, Kifune also mentions that there are more recent definitions that even limit hikiuta to a certain poem that the poet recalled in the moment of composition.30 Nevertheless, while Kifune and Ozaki are both particularly critical of Moto’ori Norinaga’s narrow definition of hikiuta, Ozaki even ventures to go a step further by stating that a definition of that kind overlooks the essence of hikiuta, namely its doubleness: it evokes both the meaning of the passage and the old poem.31 Returning now to our poems above, the first poem from the “Yūgao” Chapter was an example of the first kind, an allusion to one or a number of so-called foundation poems, while the one from the “Utsusemi” Chapter is an example of the latter kind, the allusion to a poem that often develops into a story. This can generally be compared to Marc Turner’s use of the concept of parable32 and in particular to the basic metaphor EVENTS ARE ACTIONS as a projection of a non-spacial event onto a spatial action.33 As the poem as a whole appears in the alluding text, we may say that the reference text, the poem by Lady Ise, is at the same time a marker and a sign of the alluding text, the “Utsusemi” story. The relation between the reference text and the alluding text may be illustrated as shown by the outline below.

27 Moto’ori Norinaga, Genji Monogatari Tama no Ogushi (1796), in: Moto’ori Norinaga zenshū, Vol. 4, ed. Ono Susumu (Tokyo: Chikuma shobō, 1981), p. 182. 28 Moto’ori, Genji Monogatari Tama no Ogushi, pp. 182–183. 29 The work in question is Genji monogatari hyōshaku (Commentary of The Tale of Genji), 1854–61. Ozaki Satoakira, Genji monogatari shidoku shō (Tokyo: Kasama shoin, 1979), p. 169. 30 Kifune, “Genji monogatari sakueihō,” p. 139. 31 Ozaki, Genji monogatari shidoku shō, p. 177. 32 See above, in the section “Expansions of Metaphor.” 33 Turner, The Literary Mind, pp. 44–45.

Expansions of Metaphor in Japanese Court Literature Reference Text (Source Text) Alluding Text Poem from the Ise shū The “Cicada Shell” story

179

Marker/Sign Poem from the Ise shū

Let us proceed a step further and relate Ben-Porat’s theory of literary allusion to the classicist Gian Biagio Conte’s theory of allusion as a trope. In fact, Conte argues that allusion functions like the trope of classical rhetoric. This argument he bases on the traditional definition of the rhetorical “trope” as the figure created by dislodging a term from its old sense and previous usage and transferring it to a new, improper, or “strange” sense and usage. The gap between the letter and the sense in figuration is the same as the gap produced between the immediate, surface meaning of the word or phrase in the text and the thought evoked by the allusion. The effect could, according to Conte, also be described as a tension between the literal and the figurative meaning. In addition he says that in both allusion and the trope, the poetic dimension is created by the simultaneous presence of two different realities whose competition with one another produces a single more complex reality, whereby is produced the simultaneous coexistence of both a denotative and a connotative semiotic.34 The trope closest to allusion by analogy is metaphor.35 As the previous poetic context necessarily carries over into the new one, the new text tends to become a visible “sign” of the new one, Conte continues.36 This seems quite pertinent to relate to Ben-Porat’s idea of literary allusion. This idea of allusion as trope, analogical with metaphor, is not only to be further found in the metaphor theory of Andrew Goatly, but also in that of scholars of intertextuality like Judith Still and Michael Worton.37 Briefly, up to now, Conte’s theory may be summed up in rough outline as illustrated in the chart below. The Previous Text Literal sense

The New Text Figurative sense

Denotation

Connotation Sign for the Previous Text

34 Gian Biagio Conte, The Rhetoric of Imitation: Genre and Poetic Memory in Virgil and Other Latin Poets, trans. and ed. Charles Segal (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1986), pp. 23–24. 35 Conte, The Rhetoric of Imitation, p. 53. 36 Conte, The Rhetoric of Imitation, p. 25. 37 Michael Worton and Judith Still, “Introduction,” in: Intertextuality: Theories and Practices, ed. Michael Worton and Judith Still (Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 1990), pp. 10, 11, 12, 14, 28.

180

Stina Jelbring

Metaphor Theory The line of thought hitherto presented may lead us to relate allusion more closely to metaphor theory: Andrew Goatly states that “allusion, or quotation is a means of creating large-scale metaphors, in which any aspects of the source and host works are made available for comparison.”38 Consequently, Goatly places strong emphasis on allusion as a means of creating metaphors, as well as the comparison aspect of metaphor, which is also an important part. However, this metaphor theory of allusion is not developed further and is restricted to what is referred to as allusive metaphor or metaphorical allusion.39 I would therefore like to go a step further and argue that allusion is metaphor in the sense that the creational process of allusion is metaphorical; like metaphor, the allusive process is basically that of expansion and transfer of meaning, so it should not be impossible to – by analogy – introduce a term like allusifying metaphor with regard to Goatly’s term personifying metaphor,40 particularly in such an allusively dense text as the Genji monogatari.41 If allusive metaphor and metaphorical allusion refer to the more passive notions of the means of creating metaphor, allusifying metaphor, in contrast, is a notion that actively alludes, in the same way that personifying metaphor actively personifies. That being said, by interpreting allusion as metaphor, with the theory of metaphor, it is freed from the diachronic aspect, and the methodological focus is shifted from temporal aspects, and whichever text influenced the others, to the texts themselves and the reader. Furthermore, we see a simultaneous evocation of two or more texts or text domains by which the meaning is expanded and transferred. Allusion, as well as intertextuality, then becomes not only a pure reference to a source-text, but along with the interplaying texts, an interactive part. Nevertheless, along with Conte, but in contrast to Goatly, I distinguish pure quotation from tropological metaphor. No metaphor occurs if the new verbal 38 Goatly, The Language of Metaphors, p. 13. 39 Goatly, The Language of Metaphors, p. 166 (allusive metaphor), p. 308 (metaphorical allusion). 40 Goatly, The Language of Metaphors, pp. 51–3. 41 I prefer to distinguish allusion and intertext topologically and not typologically, that is, not as different types of concepts based on the degree of deliberateness or explicitness, in which allusion is considered highly deliberate and overt and intertext is to a significant extent involuntary and non-overt, but rather as a scale from small-scale to large-scale, in which, on the one hand, allusion is small- and middle-scale, referring to more or less specific texts, and intertext, on the other hand, refers to textuality, the interrelatedness of all texts.

Expansions of Metaphor in Japanese Court Literature

181

segment does not rework the old one dialectically but simply inserts the text within itself without adding a new meaning.42 In this process, the allusion’s metaphorical potential needs to be explored. As Max Black distinguished different relations between the referents in a metaphor – such as identity, expansion, similarity and analogy – we must ask if relations like these are to be found in the referents of allusion.43 Among these relations I would also like to add contradiction and paradox. If the allusion – in these cases probably rather a quotation – and the intertext target do not show any of these relations, we may not have a case of allusifying metaphor. An analysis of the function of the given allusion in the text’s metaphorical and symbolic complex will also be included.

Metaphoric Analysis Now it is time to return to our poems at the beginning – Lady Yūgao’s poem and Poem KKS 277 – and analyse the allusion in terms of metaphor. In Goatly’s terms, the just mentioned similarities and analogies are referred to as grounds.44 For the components of metaphor I will choose to use the terms referents and topic for the unconventional referent that introduces the sign, but which might or might not be explicitly stated, and sign for the referent or particular word(s) or phrase that activates the metaphor. I have distinguished seven relations between the topic and the sign in allusifying metaphor: identity, expansion, similarity, analogy, transfer, contradiction and paradox, which will be referred to here as interrelating grounds. They may be set against the parameters of activity: how much of the source domain is evoked in the target domain? Moreover, there is a need to distinguish different levels of allusion: for corpus intrinsic allusifying metaphor, that is, allusion to a target in the corpus text, intratext target will be used; for intrinsic allusifying metaphor, that is, allusion to a text outside the corpus text, I will use intertext target; and for extrinsic allusifying metaphor, that is, allusion to a target outside any text or any phenomenon in society or nature, I will use extratext target. Thus, intratext target, intertext target

42 Conte, The Rhetoric of Imitation, p. 60. 43 Max Black, “More about Metaphor,” in: Metaphor and Thought, ed. Andrew Ortony (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980 [1979]), p. 30. 44 Goatly speaks of a Topic or Topic-term (T-term) and a Vehicle-term (V-term). He describes the topic as the actual unconventional referent, while the Vehicle-term is the conventional referent. The relations between the referents are referred to as grounds. Goatly, The Language of Metaphors, p. 9.

182

Stina Jelbring

and extratext target refer to the text that is alluded to. Target refers in each case to the allusive context.

Lady Yūgao’s Poem 1 and Poem KKS 277 (honkadori) CORPUS TEXT TARGET: Lady Yūgao’s poem. Sent to Genji on a white, perfumed fan along with a white Evening Visage at the first encounter with Yūgao’s house. TOPIC: bewilderment SIGN: kokoro ate ni (by guess) INTERTEXT TARGET: KKS 277. Autumn II. Ōshikōchi no Mitsune. INTERRELATING GROUNDS The corpus target text and the intertext are closely interrelated, though contrastively, as if every line was interchangeable:45 Line Corpus Text Target (Yūgao’s poem 1) 1 Kokoro ate ni (at a guess)

Intertext Target (Poem KKS 277) Kokoro ate ni (at a guess)

2

Sore ka to zo miru (it looks like him/her

Orabaya oramu (if I would pluck it, do I have to do it [at a guess]?)

3

Shiratsuyu no (of the white dew) Hatsushimo no (the first coating of frost)

4

Hikari soetaru (the glistening lends beauty to)

Okimadowaseru (bewilders us)

5

Yūgao no hana (the flower(s) of the Evening Visage)

Shiragiku no hana (the flower(s)/ blossom(s) of the white chrysanthe- mum)

With the introductory line 1kokoro ate ni (at a guess) functioning as a sign of the allusifying metaphor, Lady Yūgao’s poem begins in a way identical to the intertext target. In the second line, however, the two poems take separate paths: whereas the attitude of the corpus text target is cautious, the intertext target is more active. The former one also introduces a human element: 2sore ka to zo miru (it looks like him/her), contrary to the latter one, in which it says 2orabaya oramu (If I would pluck it/do I have to do it [by guess]?), which rather suggests a natural element, as the verb “pluck” implies some sort of plant. Even within Lady Yūgao’s poem – in the second and third lines – there is a contrast between human and natural affairs: the natural affairs of 3shiratsuyu no (of the white dew) after 2sore ka to zo 45 Kifune uses the word “correspondence” (taiō 対応) and not “contrast” for the relationship between Lady Yūgao’s poem and what he calls “the poem from a previous time” (senshōei 先蹤詠). Kifune, “Genji Monogatari waka sakueihō,” p. 151.

Expansions of Metaphor in Japanese Court Literature

183

miru (it looks like him/her), which lends it a touch of surprise. In Poem KKS 277, however, the natural sphere is prevalent throughout. In both poems an atmosphere of wonder is prevailing: the question is either who is referred to or what is to be plucked? The third line in each poem shares the characteristic of being parallel in form with its fifth line: 3shiratsuyu no – 5Yūgao no hana (of the white dew – the flower of the Evening Visage) and 3hatsushimo no – 5shiragiku no hana (the first coating – the flower of the white chrysanthemum). The parallelism establishes a balance, which reinforces the visual impression of either white dew and Evening Visage merging in the glistening of the evening light, or the merging of frost and chrysanthemums.46 The poems make contrasting images of one another: the third line is contrastive in the sense that in the corpus text target it says “dew” and in the intertext target it says “frost.” However, they are analogous in the sense that they both suggest whiteness, end in the genitive/subject particle no and lead on to the fifth line in which the flower is finally introduced. Through their connection with evening and twilight, the images of the Evening Visage and the white dew, the time aspect of Lady Yūgao’s poem is foremost related to the time of the day. This differs markedly from Poem KKS 277 in which time is rather connected with the season, in this case autumn, as the first frost is an indication of autumn. By the images of Evening Visage and white dew, however, the season turns into (late) summer in Lady Yūgao’s poem. In the fourth line of Lady Yūgao’s poem, it says 4hikari soetaru (“the glistening lends beauty to”). By evoking the allusive atmosphere of elegant confusion in the corresponding line of the intertext target, namely the bewildering 4okimadowaseru (“bewilders us”), it seems to suggest that the glistening makes the visage seen only vaguely in the gloaming. We may also see this understanding already hinted at in lines one and two in Lady Yūgao’s poem, where it runs “by guess/ it looks like him/her.” Another possible reading is to interpret the white dew as tears, in which case Lines 3–5 may read as “the glistening of the tears that endow beauty to the Evening Visage,” which is a reflection of the woman’s own poor and uncertain situation, evoking both tears and the transience of the dew. This evocation of the meaning of white dew need not erase the more elegant image created by the glistening of the dew; rather, they co-exist simultaneously when the poetic I turns to the visitor outside, praising him for his shining face: “the glistening of the dew lends beauty 46 Cf. Craig McCullough, Brocade by Night, p. 408.

184

Stina Jelbring

to the Evening Visage that is seen but vaguely.”47 In this way the low status of the Evening Visage is juxtaposed side by side with the elegant image of the visitor’s “face of a person (of high standing).” The images of poor and rich are in this manner fused together by the associations of “face.” Thus there is, in fact, a confusion of glistening and visage, which also suggests that not only is the evening sun glistening but the visage is barely visible as well. In contrast to the intertext target in which the bewilderment concerns the white frost and the white chrysanthemum blossom, the corpus text target suggests it is the white dew glistening and the white flower – or is it a visage? – that are confused. Lastly, the fifth line is in both texts a genitive construction ending in hana (flower). The yūgao in the corpus text target, with its personification (the kao – or gao here – meaning “visage,” “face”), adds one additional dimension compared to the intertext target; there is not merely a confusion of two elements – the white frost and the white chrysanthemum blossom – but three elements: the glistening of the white dew, the flower and the face. Just like the intertext target Poem KKS 277, Lady Yūgao’s poem may be interpreted as an “elegant confusion” poem; however, instead of two, there are three elements being confused, making it even more complex. Hence, in Lady Yūgao’s poem, the white chrysanthemum blossom of Poem KKS 277 shifts into the Evening Visage, the frost shifts into dew, and the natural features of autumn shift into those suitable for summer. The image of the “foundation poem” is neither blurred nor wiped away; it lingers on as a background to Lady Yūgao’s poem, permeating it and projecting onto it. If we, in addition, should compare the two flower images to each other, we see that they are indeed contrastive: the Evening Visage represents ephemerality, whereas the chrysanthemum was regarded as promoting longevity apart from being a symbol of courage, a chaste mind, modesty and virtue.48 To juxtapose these two flowers – one of them an image of stability and constancy and the other of transitoriness – may even be said a contradiction. 47 Cf. SKKS 1286. Love IV in which the white dew may be read as tears. Ato taete Ceased have the traces. Asaji ga sue ni The Cogon grass grows thick. Narinikeri My abode that he used Tanomeshi yado no To visit is covered with Niwa no shiratsuyu White dew in the garden. あと絶えて浅芧が末になりにけりたのめし宿の庭の白露. 48 Watanabe Hideo, Shi’ika no mori: Nihongo no imēji (Tokyo: Taishūkan shoten, 1995), p. 261 (on longevity) and p. 264 (on modesty, virtue, etc.).

Expansions of Metaphor in Japanese Court Literature

185

The bewilderment in the “foundation poem” is whether it is possible to pluck the chrysanthemums when they may not be distinguished from the frost. In contrast, the bewilderment in Lady Yūgao’s poem concerns whether one may discern whose face it is in the gloaming when both the dew and the flower are white. This said, the elegant confusion of white dew and the Evening Visage is in fact even more of a delusion, as the dew “looks” white rather than is white like the frost, and the visage or face of the “Evening Visage” is a wordplay, since it is part of the plant’s name. What creates the confusion and the bewilderment is therefore foremost the glistening light, deluding the visual impression. Thus, Lady Yūgao’s poem expands and reworks the meaning of the intertext target, and is for that reason of greater complexity. Apart from the confusion seen in both poems, similarity between the two is conveyed in the sign (guesswork) and the white flowers, as well as in another white element that is included. Analogy may be found in the whiteness, but also on a formal level in the parallelism of Line 3 and 5. Finally, contradiction and paradox are traced in the juxtaposition of the two contrasting flower images: one of strength and longevity, the other of weakness and ephemerality. Now that we have looked at a case of honkadori, an allusion to a whole poem that functions as a metaphor, it should be in place to also make a brief analysis of the other kind of allusifying metaphor, namely a poetic allusion that develops into a story, a so-called hikiuta. The way in which the poem in Ise shū has expanded, or even transferred its sense when projected upon the story of Lady Utsusemi, will therefore be briefly analysed below.

The Cicada Shell Story and Lady Ise’s Poem (hikiuta) CORPUS TEXT TARGET: The Cicada Shell story. TOPIC: Loneliness SIGN: Lady Utsusemi’s poem, i.e., poem from the Ise shū. Sent as a reply to a poem by Genji, but in a form like a soliloquy poem. Utsusemi no Ha ni oku tsuyu no 2 Kogakurete 3 Shinobi shinobi ni 4 Nururu sode kana49 5 US. Poem 2. Lady Utsusemi/Ise shū. 1

Hidden in the shadow of the trees Like the dew that has sprinkled 2 The wings of the cicada – 1–2 So I shed lonely tears 4 In my wet sleeves 5 2–3

49 US 131: 空蝉の羽に置く木がくれてしのびしのびにぬるる袖かな.

186

Stina Jelbring

INTERTEXT TARGET: Poem from the Ise shū. Utsusemi no Ha ni oku tsuyu no 2 Kogakurete 3 Shinobi shinobi ni 4 Nururu sode kana50 5 US. Poem 2. Lady Utsusemi/Ise shū. 1

Hidden in the shadow of the trees Like the dew that has sprinkled 2 The wings of the cicada – 1–2 So are the lonely shed tears 4 In my wet sleeves 5 3

INTERRELATING GROUNDS: The poem, that is, the intertext target, may be described as being projected upon the story of Lady Utsusemi, and thereby a nonspatial story of loneliness and despair projected upon a spatial action-story of a man chasing a woman, who goes into hiding. We may also describe it as the intertext target functioning as a source story for the corpus text target.51 The basic metaphor is EVENTS ARE ACTIONS.52 The event of the poem, the feeling of loneliness, despair and life’s transitoriness, is turned into – or expanded to – the individual fate of a woman. This is realised in such a way that the cicada wings, as an image of transitoriness, expand into an image of the garment that slips away when she takes to flight; in a transferred sense, this becomes the woman herself. The first three lines of Lady Utsusemi’s poem: 1utsusemi no/2ha ni oku tsuyu no/3kogakurete (1like the dew that has sprinkled the wings 2of the cicada 3hidden in the shadow of the trees) make up a simile of the two last lines: 4Shinobi shinobi ni 5Nururu sode kana (4are the lonely shed tears 5in my wet sleeves).53 That is, it is in a description of the wet sleeves that the feelings of sadness and loneliness are gathered. With the poetic images of cicada wings and dew combined with the image of wet sleeves, the poem as a whole becomes a picture of a rarely beheld and bated sorrow of a life that is wasting away in this transitory world. Through the projection onto the story of Lady Utsusemi, these images, or more exactly, the feelings conveyed in the poem, are associated with Lady Utsusemi and her special circumstances – her marriage to a man she does not love and her attraction to Genji – while holding back her feelings. Thus we may speak of a relation of identification between the poem and the mental state of the story’s female protagonist.

50 51 52 53

US 131: 空蝉の羽に置く木がくれてしのびしのびにぬるる袖かな. Cf. Turner, The Literary Mind, pp. 44–45. See above, in the section “The Intertextuality Viewpoint.” Utsusemi no is originally a so-called makurakotoba (pillow-word), a kind of poetic epithet that modified another word. The relationship between the pillow-word and the modified word may or may not be metaphorical.

Expansions of Metaphor in Japanese Court Literature

187

In addition, there are in fact several poems that use the image of the cicada (its wings and its shell) in the story of Lady Utsusemi (which extends over three chapters), one of which is Genji’s poem to which the above poem by Lady Utsusemi is a reply. Utsusemi no mi o kaetekeru ko no moto ni 3 nao hitogara no 4 natsukashiki kana 5 US. Poem 1. Genji.

How dear to me is not the wearer of that shell who left lying under the tree 3 its cicada shell 1 after the transformation 2

1

5

2

4

Seen from the perspective of this poem, which at the time of the story precedes Lady Utsusemi’s poem, the latter has, by using the image of the cicada turned its associations with the shed attire and expression of longing into one of feeling forlorn. The poem’s first line is identical in form with Lady Utsusemi’s 1utsusemi no (the cicada shell), but it is not its wings, but its “body” (2mi) that is in focus as it is transformed from grub to grown-up cicada: 2mi o kaetekeru ([1who has left lying] [its cicada shell] 2after the transformation). When the grub changes into an insect it sheds its shell. It thus alludes directly to the episode of the garment that slips away. More exactly, in a similar way or in analogy with the cicada that leaves its shell when transforming from grub to insect, Lady Utsusemi takes to flight when she scents Genji is approaching – leaving behind only her thin garment. The third line’s “under the tree” (3ko no moto ni) is, in turn, taken up by Lady Utsusemi’s poem in her third line 3kogakurete (hidden in the shadow of the trees). “The wearer of that shell” relates to the shell of the cicada; at the same time it is a metaphor of the garment Lady Utsusemi has left lying. The Japanese word 4hitogara in the fourth line may be interpreted as “the human shell,” but it is homonymous with the sense “personality.” The grub’s transformation into a cicada may also stand for Lady Utsusemi herself in both a metaphorical and metonymic sense, as she leaves a part of herself with Genji, while another part of her takes to flight.54 In sum, we may conclude that the interrelating grounds between the Ise shū poem and the story of Lady Utsusemi are first of all expansion, but, besides that, identity, similarity and also analogy.

54 Genji’s poem also relates Lady Utsusemi’s garment to a keepsake or memento.

188

Stina Jelbring

Concluding Remarks on the Metaphoric Analysis Two metaphoric analyses of allusion have been carried out and what remains is to make a couple of concluding remarks regarding them. First of all, both kinds of allusions do indeed rework its intertext target so that a new meaning is added. Also, in both cases interrelating grounds between topic and sign could be identified, of which it may be concluded that they quite well reflect the special characteristic of respective allusion. The concrete examples of the analysis showed that in the case of honkadori – that of one poem alluding to another whole poem, in this case Lady Yūgao’s poem alluding to Poem KKS 277 – interrelating grounds such as expansion, similarity, analogy, contradiction or even paradox were found. This may be a reflection of its essential quality as a direct response and reaction to another poem. In the other case, that of hikiuta, in which a poem by the poetess Ise developed into the story of Lady Utsusemi, interrelating grounds of expansion, similarity and identity could be identified. This discovery points rather to the features of extension than to a reaction or response. If we proceed in the discussion, we may at this point extend the argument concerning the contradictory or even paradoxical elements in the interrelation between Poem KKS 277 and Yūgao’s poem and discuss its background of “elegant confusion,” a feigned confusion or surprise, and if this may be understood in terms of metaphor. We may hereby also add the distinction of the “elegant confusion” between different elements that the viewer has right before his eyes and what one’s senses perceive in terms of something else that one imagines.55 Thus, when trying to make this distinction in our poems, it seems as if Poem KKS 277 would be a case in which the viewer confounds two elements before his eyes, namely chrysanthemums and frost, as it may hardly be said that the chrysanthemum is seen as imaginable frost, or frost as an imaginable chrysanthemum blossom.56 Lady Yūgao’s poem, is, however, more difficult to interpret by this distinction. We may say that at least one of the elements, more specifically the flower called Evening Visage, exists in reality (the reality of the poem and of the story); however, whether or not this is perceived in terms of something else is ambiguous. For

55 “Elegant confusion” is, as mentioned above, a term used for an elegant confusion or feigned surprise as a poetic device. It may or may not be expressed as a so-called mitate (conceit), which Suzuki Hiroko describes as a metaphor or simile based on similarity found on the intellectual plane by imagination, in which one perceives the in real life existing thing A as the non-existing thing B. Suzuki Hiroko, Kokin wakashū hyōgenron (Tokyo: Kazama shoin, 2000), p. 14. 56 Suzuki, Kokin wakashū hyōgenron, p. 37.

Expansions of Metaphor in Japanese Court Literature

189

depending on the interpretation, a human face may be either imagined through the medium of a personifying metaphor (FLOWER IS FACE/FACE IS FLOWER) and wordplay (the face of a person fused with the name of the flower, “Evening Visage”) or, if vaguely seen as the face of the male protagonist in the story (Genji), confused with the flower. Whether or not something exists or does not exist in the reality of the poem should, however, not be a decisive criterion as to whether it may or may not be understood in terms of metaphor, as the elements are in either case projected upon each other. A transfer from one domain to another is carried out, and they are understood in terms of the other. In both cases, a similarity-paradox relation based on a visual impression is established between the elements. In the case of Yūgao’s poem, this is accomplished between the human face and the flower through the basic metaphor PEOPLE ARE PLANTS, as well as the inverted basic metaphor PLANTS ARE PEOPLE and its subordinate metaphors FACE IS FLOWER/ FLOWER IS FACE.57 The vision is, however, blurred by the dew, glistening in the light of the gloaming. Furthermore, the metaphors of Poem KKS 277 may, on the other hand, be formulated as FLOWER IS FROST and FROST IS FLOWER. The conclusion from this argument would be that while KKS 277 uses confusion between two elements, Lady Yūgao’s poem combines confusion of three components with the device of seeing something, while imagining it as something else that it resembles; in this case, it also results in the basic metaphor FLOWER IS FACE being used both on a conceptual basis and as wordplay. Finally, a short remark on the Ise shū poem expanding into the “Utsusemi” story: We may say conclusively that it is a special case of the basic metaphor EVENTS ARE ACTIONS – as the lyrical, soliloquy-like poem – functioning on various levels in the story. While inserted as exactly a soliloquy by Lady Utsusemi, it is simultaneously a reply poem to Genji’s poem, and while it in a concrete sense is the very end of the “Utsusemi” chapter, it also consists of its kernel, expanding into the formation of the story’s metaphorical and symbolic system.

Summary The aim of this paper was to explore certain ways in which the concept metaphor may be expanded. Expansion of metaphor was in the main poem used firstly for

57 Cf. George Lacoff and Mark Turner, More than Cool Reason: A Field Guide to Poetic Metaphor (Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 1989), p. 6 for example.

190

Stina Jelbring

concepts that are not obviously understood in terms of metaphor and secondly for extended metaphor, that is, metaphors that expand to include whole narratives. The concept of allusion that was focused on in this survey is not obviously understood in terms of metaphor. The idea of testing allusion as metaphor was evoked by Andrew Goatly’s study The Language of Metaphors, 1997, in which allusion is connected to metaphor. However, the notion of, for instance, allusion as metaphor also appears elsewhere, such as in Gian Biagio Conte’s study on classical Latin poetry (The Rhetoric of Imitation: Genre and Poetic Memory in Virgil and other Latin Poets, 1986). However, in neither of them is the idea of intertextuality combined with the theory of metaphor in order to find a method to foreground what happens on the level of significance concerning the allusive/intertextual sign (referred to as the corpus text sign in the above analysis) through the metaphorical transformations, extensions and so on. The survey thereby came to include a two-step investigation in which the validity of allusion as metaphor was tested. Firstly, it was tested with the assistance of two models of literary allusion. Apart from the above-mentioned Gian Biagio Conte, the one by Ziwa Ben-Porat was used. Together they were referred to as the intertextuality viewpoint. Of these two models, the former acted as a transition to metaphor theory. In the next step, allusion as metaphor was tested by relating intertextuality with metaphor theory. As a point of departure for this investigation, a couple of literary sources from the Heian Period (794–1185) of Japan – foremost the prose-lyric Genji monogatari (The Tale of Genji, eleventh century), attributed to Murasaki Shikibu, and the Kokin wakashū (A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern, beginning of the tenth century) – were analysed. This included the Ise shū (Anthology of Poems by Lady Ise, tenth century). The selection was based on the distinction between two kinds of allusion in Japanese poetics: one referring to a poem that alludes to another whole poem (Jap. honkadori), and one referring to a poem that develops into a story (Jap. hikiuta). For the first kind of allusion, a poem by the fictive female protagonist Lady Yūgao from the Genji monogatari, and its allusion to Poem 277 in the Kokin wakashū, was selected. The other concerned a poem inserted from the Ise shū, understood as a poem by the female protagonist Lady Utsusemi, also found in the Genji monogatari. It was this poem’s function that was considered as the outset of the story. Apart from these main targets of expansions of metaphor, the problem of socalled elegant confusion, a poetic technique used in Chinese and Japanese poetry for a feigned confusion or surprise that was run as a side-track, may also be discussed in terms of metaphor, although not necessarily so.

Expansions of Metaphor in Japanese Court Literature

191

Ben-Porat speaks of literary allusion in terms of a new text functioning as a “sign” for the previous text, that is, a device for activating two different texts simultaneously through the manipulation of a certain signal (a sign). Moreover, a marker is distinguished as the part of the sign that is always identical with an element or pattern belonging to another independent text. By this, we could sort out that for the case of honkadori, the first line in the source text (Poem KKS 277) and the alluding text (Lady Yūgao’s poem) were identical and functioned as a sign of allusion, while for the hikiuta, the poem from the Ise shū functioned as both a source text and a sign to the alluding text in the story of Lady Utsusemi. Conte’s theory then works as a bridge between the intertextuality viewpoint and the viewpoint of metaphor theory, as he speaks of the previous poetic context as carrying over into the new one, and the new text tending to become a visible “sign” of the new one. He continues by saying that a tension is hereby added between the literal sense of the previous text and the figurative meaning of the new text. These viewpoints further relate allusion more closely to metaphor theory and introduce a term that I have called allusifying metaphor in order to refer to a metaphor that actively alludes in the same way as Andrew Goatly’s personifying metaphor actively personifies. The analysis then came to include what kind of relations were to be found between the topic and the sign in the allusifying metaphor. Seeing allusion in terms of metaphor meant that the corpus text target and the intertext target were understood as interacting in a process in which the respective domains were transferred to each other, through certain interrelating grounds, which in the end provided a new significance to each context. The interrelating grounds identified in respective allusions worked much as a reflection of its characteristic traits, since relations of expansion, similarity, analogy, contradiction and paradox may be a reflection of a response to a previous poem, and even more so if the previous poem uses so-called elegant confusion. While showing similarities and analogies from the point of view of form and content alike, the contradictions became all the more conspicuous. It turns the frost of the intertext target into dew; the chrysanthemum blossom, the symbol of constancy, into the fragile Evening Visage; the seasonal time into a focus on the time of the day; the season of autumn to late summer; and the elegant confusion from a confusion of two elements perceived in front of one’s eyes into a confusion that combines a confusion of three elements, in which it is ambiguous whether one element is imaginary or not, making it a paradox. However, a transfer of meaning could be seen in either case, for which reason it also could be understood in terms of metaphor. Finally, in the case of hikiuta, the poem originating from the Ise shū was connected with the fictive character Lady Utsusemi on the basis of identity, as it

192

Stina Jelbring

reflects her mental state. At the same time, the poem expands its main image of the cicada shell into the kernel of the story’s symbolic system. The utmost basic metaphor behind these interrelating grounds was the EVENTS ARE ACTIONS that turned a lyrical mood into a narrative mood.

Bibliography Ben-Porat, Ziwa. “The Poetics of Literary Allusion.” PTL: A Journal for Descriptive Poetics and Theory of Literature, Vol. 1, No. 1, 1976, pp. 105–128. Black, Max. “More about Metaphor.” In: Metaphor and Thought, ed. Andrew Ortony. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980 [1979], pp. 19–43. Conte, Gian Biagio. The Rhetoric of Imitation: Genre and Poetic Memory in Virgil and Other Latin Poets. Trans. and ed. Charles Segal. Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1986. Goatly, Andrew. The Language of Metaphors. London: Routledge, 1997. Halliwell, Stephen. The Poetics of Aristotle: Translation and Commentary. Chapel Hill NC: The University of North Carolina Press, 1987. Horiuchi Hideaki 掘内秀晃, Akiyama, Ken 秋山虔, eds. Taketori monogatari, Ise monogatari 竹取物語 伊勢物語 [The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter and The Tales of Ise]. Shin nihon koten bungaku taikei, Vol. 17. Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1997. Kawazoe Fusae 川添房江. “Hikiuta: Genji monogatari no isō” 引歌 – 源氏物 語の位相 [Poetic Allusion: The Phase of The Tale of Genji]. In: Ronshū waka to retorikku, ed. Waka bungakkai. Tokyo: Kazama shoin, 1986, pp. 249–270. Kifune Shigeaki 木船重明. “Genji monogatari waka sakueihō: Senshōei riyō gihō no kaimei to taikeika” 源氏物語和歌作詠法 – 先蹤詠利用技法の解明と体 系化 [The Way of Waka Composition in The Tale of Genji: Explanation and Systematization of the Technique of Using Previous Poems]. In: ‘Genji monogatari’: Sono bungeiteki keisei 『源氏物語』その文芸的形成 [The Tale of Genji: Its Literary Form], ed. Inaga Keiji. Hiroshima: Daigaku shoten, 1979, pp. 137–312. Kubota Jun 久保田淳, ed. Shin kokin wakashū, jō 新古今和歌集　上 [New Anthology of Japanese Poetry, Ancient and Modern, Volume 1]. Shinchōsha nihon koten shūsei. Tokyo: Shinchōsha, 1979. Lacoff, George and Mark Turner. More than Cool Reason: A Field Guide to Poetic Metaphor. Chicago & London: The University of Chicago Press, 1989. Matsumura Yūji 松村雄二. “Honkadori kō: Seiritsu ni kansuru nōto” 本歌取り 考 – 成立に関するノート [Research on Honkadori: Notes on its Formation]. In: Ronshū waka to retorikku, ed. Waka bungakkai. Tokyo: Kazama shoin, 1986, pp. 129–148.

Expansions of Metaphor in Japanese Court Literature

193

McCullough, Helen Craig. Brocade by Night: Kokin Wakashū and the Court Style in Japanese Classical Poetry. Stanford CA: Stanford University Press, 1985. Moto’ori Norinaga 本居宣長. Genji Monogatari Tama no Ogushi 源氏物語玉の お櫛 [The Tale of Genji: A Jewelled Comb, 1796]. In: Moto’ori Norinaga zenshū 本居宣長全集 [The Complete Works of Moto’ori Norinaga], Vol. 4, ed. Ono Susumu 大野晋. Tokyo: Chikuma shobō, 1981. Murasaki Shikibu 紫式部. Genji monogatari 源氏物語 [The Tale of Genji]. Shin nihon koten bungaku taikei, Vol. 19, ed. Yanai Shigeshi 柳井滋 et al. Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1998 [1993]. – trans. Royall Tyler. The Tale of Genji. New York: Viking, Penguin Ltd, 2001. Ozaki Satoakira 尾崎知光. Genji monogatari shidoku shō 源氏物語私読抄 [A Personal Reading and Commentary of The Tale of Genji]. Tokyo: Kasama shoin, 1979. Pettersson, Bo. “Literary Criticism Writes Back to Metaphor Theory: Exploring the Relation between Extended Metaphor and Narrative in Literature.” In: Beyond Cognitive Metaphor Theory: Perspectives on Literary Metaphor, ed. Monica Fludernik. New York and London: Routledge, 2011, pp. 94–112. Ricoeur, Paul. The Rule of Metaphor: Multi-Disciplinary Studies of the Creation of Meaning in Language. Trans. Robert Czerny with Kathleen McLaughlin and John Costello. London and Henly: Routlegde and Kegan Paul, 1977. French edition: Édition de Seuil, 1975. Suzuki Hiroko 鈴木宏子. Kokin wakashū hyōgenron 古今和歌集表現論 [Theory of the Expression of Kokin Wakashū]. Tokyo: Kazama shoin, 2000. Turner, Mark. The Literary Mind: The Origins of Thought and Language. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996. Watanabe Hideo 渡辺秀夫. Shi’ika no mori: Nihongo no imēji 詩歌の森 – 日本 語のイメージ [The Forest of Poetry: The Poetic Images in Japanese]. Tokyo: Taishūkan shoten, 1995. Worton, Michael and Judith Still. “Introduction.” In: Intertextuality: Theories and Practices, ed. Michael Worton and Judith Still. Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 1990, pp. 1–44.

Kerstin Eksell

Figurative Speech According to the Talkhīs. al-Miftah. by al-Qazwīnī. With an Excursus on A. F. van Mehren’s Die Rhetorik der Araber Abstract: The article presents the typology of figurative speech given by al-Qazwīnī (14th century) in his work Talkhīṣ al-Miftāḥ. For centuries, al-Qazwīnī’s work has been canonical in the Arabic speaking world. It provides a basis for comparing late classical Arabic theory of figurative speech to the Greek-Hellenistic tradition as well as to modern aspects on the subject.

Introduction Poetry and poetics have a strong tradition in Arabic culture. Pre-Islamic poetry, created by the Arabs before the advent of Islam, has been highly valued and a large corpus with material has been preserved. Even more important for the rise of poetics as a proper scientific discipline was the creation of exegetic tools for the interpretation of the Quran. Philologists studied linguistic problems in the early poetry and in the Quran, and the abundant occurrence of figurative speech in the Quran necessitated special attention. New terminology was developed in order to define the function and effect of images in the sacred text. With the change of time, new directions appeared in the secular poetry. In the late ninth century the poets started to experiment with fantastic imagery, which caused a discussion about poetic aesthetics, as well as the establishment of another inventory and nomenclature of both tropes and figures. Theories of figurative speech are generally considered to be an internal Arabic phenomenon not influenced by Greek–Hellenistic culture. Wolfhart Heinrichs has emphasised the internal character of the Arabic poetics. It has also been maintained that the Arabs had little knowledge of the Poetics by Aristotle.1 However, For valuable comments regarding the transmission history of the Rhetoric and the Poetics, I am grateful to Professor Uwe Vagelpohl. 1 Wolfhart Heinrichs, “Literary Theory: The Problem of Its Efficiency,” in Arabic Poetry: Theory and Development: Third Giorgio Levi della Vida biennial Conference, University of California, May 14–16, 1971, ed. Grünebaum (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1973) esp. pp. 30–32. See also Muhsin J. al-Musawi, “Arabic Rhetoric,” in: Oxford Encyclopedia of Rhetoric, ed. Thomas O. Sloane (Oxford: Oxford University Press 2001, online version



196

Kerstin Eksell

traces of Greek–Hellenistic tradition of rhetoric are discernible. The background is provided by the tradition of the Organon and the late antique tradition of incorporating both the Rhetoric and the Poetics into the studies of logic and dialectics.2 In general Greek philosophy was studied and appropriated into Arabic sciences, but Greek poetics was usually not accepted to the same extent: “Logical poetics (and rhetoric) and indigenous poetics and literary theory did not often rub shoulders,” says Heinrichs.3 A paradigmatic influence of Greek rhetoric on Arabic poetics is specified by Hussein Abdul-Raouf: “For instance, the notion of a reporting proposition being true or false reaches back to the writings of Aristotle.”4 Thomas Bauer, in concordance with the mainstream of Arabist scholars, outlines the development of stylistics as an internal Arabic one only indirectly or partially influenced by the antique logical-philosophical tradition. Thus, according to Bauer, the beginnings of the standard theory of late Arabic poetics is to be found in the legal methodology related to Quranic studies, in which the complex and inexhaustible paradigm of true versus false generated rules for poetic expressions as well – admittedly, with some help of late antique tradition.5 The forceful energy of medieval Islamic science and its ability to internalise foreign influences is not questioned in the present study. However, the connection between Greek and Arabic figurative speech in a discipline with its own tradition emerges as of special interest. The development of tropical theory during the first Islamic centuries, however intense, was not a unified endeavour. Scholars presented their own views without much attempt at assembling and codifying the thinking. With the appearance of

2

3 4 5

2006), pp. 29–33, esp. p. 32 concerning unsuccessful attempts to prove a Greek origin for Arabic poetics. For a presentation of the Arabic Organon complex in the tenth century and the philosophical perspective of figurative speech as variants of logical demonstrations, see Deborah L. Black, Logic and Aristotle’s Rhetoric and Poetics in Medieval Arabic Philosophy (Leiden: Brill, 1990). See also Uwe Vagelpohl, Aristotle’s Rhetorik in the East. The Syriac and Arabic Translation and Commentary Tradition. (Leiden: Brill, 2008), pp. 1–2; pp. 181–204, and Uwe Vagelpohl, “The Rhetoric and Poetics in the Islamic world,” in: Aristotle and the Arabic Tradition, ed. Ahmed Alwishah and Josh M. Hayes (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), pp. 76–91. Wolfhart Heinrichs, “Takhyīl: Make-Believe and Image Creation in Arabic Literary Theory,” in: Takhyīl: The Imaginary in Classical Arabic Poetics, ed. Geert van Gelder and Marlé Hammond (Cambridge: Gibb Memorial Trust, 2008), p. 9. Hussein Abdul-Raof, Arabic Rhetoric. A Pragmatic Analysis (New York: Routledge, 2006), p. 276. Thomas Bauer, “Arabische Kultur,” in: Historisches Wörterbuch der Rhetorik, ed. Gert Veding (Tübingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 2007), pp. 123–124.

Figurative Speech According to al-Qazwīnī

197

the linguistic and literary scholar ʿAbd al-Qāhir al-Jurjānī in the eleventh century, Arabic views on poetic imagery reached a level hitherto unknown.6 He is original as well as profoundly steeped in the problem complexes of the field, and he is still relevant to any modern discussion on imagery. His masterworks the Asrār al-balāgha (“The Secrets of Rhetoric”) and the Iʿjāz al-Qurʾān (“The Inimitability of the Quran”) are voluminous in quantity and at times a little difficult to follow, full of versatile and, occasionally, partly contradictory discussions.7 During the next two centuries the work of al-Jurjānī was treated by new scholars. Particularly important in this context is the work by Abū Yaʿqūb Yūsuf alSakkākī, a respected scholar and muʿtazilite.8 Al-Sakkākī built on the works by al-Jurjānī in developing a rhetorical and grammatical theory of his own, which he presented in his work Miftāḥ al-ʿulūm together with numerous quotations of and comments on al-Jurjānī. Udo Gerald Simon has introduced, translated and commented the Miftāḥ.9 The work deals mainly with the grammar and logic of speech but also contains a valuable summarised presentation of al-Sakkākī’s view of figurative speech. William Smyth has studied the imagery theory of al-Sakkākī in separate articles.10 However, the focus of this study is on a scholar of the third generation in the succession starting with al-Jurjānī: Jalāl al-Dīn al-Qazwīnī, a distinguished qāḍī (judge) and professor in Damascus in the beginning of the fourteenth century. Al-Qazwīnī’s extensive education seems to have encompassed a mixture of “fiqh, logic and […] grammatical-rhetorical studies,” between which “a close 6 Abū Bakr ʿAbd al-Qāhir ibn ʿAbd al-Raḥmān al-Jurjānī, d. 471/1078 (possibly 474/1081) spent his whole life in his hometown, Jurjān. He studied for famous scholars, and wrote a great amount of works. 7 For extensive presentations of his work, see ʿAbd al-Qāhir al-Jurjānī, Die Geheimnisse der Wortkunst (Asrār al-balāgha) des ʿAbdalqāhir al-Curcānī. Aus dem arabischen übersetzt von Helmut Ritter (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1959); and Kamal Abu Deeb, Al-Jurjānī’s Theory of Poetic Imagery (Warminster: Wiltshire: Aris & Phillips LTD, 1979). 8 Sirājaddīn Abū Yaʿqūb Yūsuf ibn Abī Bakr ibn Muḥammad ibn ʿAlī al-Sakkākī, 555/ 1160-626/1229, born in a village near Tashkent, spent (most of) his life in Khwārazm. 9 Udi Gerald Simon, Mitteralterliche arabische Sprachbetrachtung zwischen Grammatik und Rhetorik: ʿIlm al-maʿānī bei as-Sakkākī (Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag, 1993). 10 William Smyth, “Some Quick Rules ut pictura poesis: The Rules for Simile in Miftāḥ al-ʿulūm,” Oriens, Vol. 33 (1992), pp. 215–229; William Smyth, “The Canonical Formulation of ʿIlm al-balāghah and al-Sakkākī’s Miftāḥ al-ʿulūm,” Der Islam, Vol. 72 (1995), pp. 7–24.

198

Kerstin Eksell

relationship was about to become fairly typical at just this time.” Two books have survived: The Talkhīṣ al-miftāḥ, and the enlarged version of the same, the Īḍāḥ. A manuscript of the latter is dated to 724/1324, so that the Talkhīṣ must have been written before that. In his introduction to this work, al-Qazwīnī explains the intentions behind his work: The third part of the Miftāḥ al-ʿulūm by Abū Yaʿqūb Yūsuf al-Sakkākī is “the most useful among the well-known books compiled on this science (i.e., al-balāghah, rhetoric).” It is “the best arranged and the most accurately written, as well as the one drawing upon the greatest number of sources. But it is not free from unnecessary detail (ḥashw), lengthiness and intricacy, it admits abridgement and needs to be clarified and stripped down (tajrīd).”11 Al-Qazwīnī set out to correct these shortcomings, rearranging and abridging, and at the same time verifying, rectifying and adding facts from other writers. He wished to make his summary “easier to grasp […] and to understand.” In his preface to the Īḍāḥ, al-Qazwīnī also mentions the works by ʿAbd al-Qāhir al-Jurjānī and the books by this scholar, the Asrār al-balāgha and the Dalāʾil aliʿjāz. Both al-Sakkākī and al-Jurjāni are sometimes (although not consequently) referred to in the Talkhīṣ.12 In the Arabic speaking world, the Talkhīṣ and its many commentaries became the canonical study for Arabic figurative speech, bayān, from the beginning of the fourteenth century until today. Its concise form and strict arrangement made it appropriate for learning, just as al-Qazwīnī himself had intended. Its close relation to the two earlier scholars, al-Sakkākī and al-Jurjānī, makes it highly valuable, because the three works together constitute a central line of tradition in the science of balāgha. Concentrating on al-Qazwīnī and his two close 11 See Herbjørn Jenssen, The Subtleties and Secrets of the Arabic Language: Preliminary Investigations into Al-Qazwini’s Talkhis-al-miftah, Bergen Studies on the Middle East & Africa (London: Hurst & Co Publishers Ltd., 2000), pp. 16–19. Further from the same source: al-Qazwīnī (Jalāl al-Dīn Abū ʿAbd Allāh Muḥammad ibn ʿAbd al-Raḥmān ibn ʿUmar, also known as “al-khaṭīb al-Dimashqī ” and “al-Khaṭībī ”) was born in Mosul and came to Damascus around 689/1290. He became known as a distinguished faqīh. Al-Qazwīnī held several positions as professor and qāḍī, was appointed imām and khaṭīb of the Umayyad mosque in Damascus in 706/1307, chief qāḍī of the army in Syria in 724/1324, chief qāḍī of Cairo in 727/1327, and finally chief qāḍī of Damascus (for a short period) before his death in 739/1338. See also Seeger A. Bonebakker, “al-Qazwīnī,” in: Encyclopedia of Islam (Leiden: Brill, 1960). – Jenssen, The Subtleties and Secrets deals with the maʿānī, part I, but also contains an introduction giving the cultural background. 12 For other sources used by al-Qazwīnī as well, see Bonebakker, “al-Qazwini.”

Figurative Speech According to al-Qazwīnī

199

predecessors will give us an important bearing on main problems of imagery, how they were defined and solved in this advanced period of classical Arabic learning and fixed into a canonical reading. In modern research al-Qazwīnī’s views on eloquence have been somewhat overlooked, probably due to his being concise to the point of being incomprehensible, if one does not know the subject in advance.13 In this study, however, it is advocated that he deserves a close reading, because his clear systematisation makes him highly suitable for comparison with other systems of imagery. The importance of al-Qazwīnī has been emphasised in a pioneer study by Thomas Bauer on the development of Arabic stylistics. Bauer structures the main characteristics of al-Qazwīnī’s theory of eloquence in a concise but informative way, outlining its basic constituent structure as well as its treatment of the separate tropes, and providing illustrating tables of the components of the theory, by Bauer called “the standard theory” (Standardtheorie) of Arabic stylistics.14 The aim of the present study is close to the intention already expressed in the article by Bauer. Some overlapping of the statements in the earlier article has been unavoidable, even if considerably much more space has been awarded the present text. However, the present study has been undertaken from a slightly different angle, with more details and with partly different results. Its aim is to present the structural elements of the theory of figurative speech by al-Qazwīnī in such a way as to facilitate comparison to other systems of figurative speech, and to suggest possible points of resemblance, mainly to the antique tradition and to some degree to modern western theory. Die Rhetorik der Araber by August Ferdinand van Mehren from 1853 is invaluable for the understanding of the bayān parts II and III of al-Qazwīnī’s work, those dealing with figurative speech.15 It is still the only extensive treatment of this

13 Geert van Gelder, “Al-Khaṭīb al-Qazwīnī,” in: Takhyīl: The Imaginary in Classical Arabic Poetics, pp. 114–119, quote p. 114: “On account of its extreme concision it is easy to memorise for those trained in the traditional manner, but a translation would often border on the incomprehensible, unless one included many clarifying parentheses and notes.” Al-Qazwīnī’s own extended version, the Īḍāḥ, is not much more elaborated (my comment). 14 Bauer, Arabische Kultur, pp. 127–133. 15 A. F. van Mehren, Die Rhetorik der Araber. Nach den wichtigsten Quellen dargestellt und mit angefügten Textauszügen nebst einem literatur-geschichtlichen Anhange versehen. (Unter der Autorität der deutschen morgenländischen Gesellschaft gedruckt.) (Kopenhagen: Verlag Otto Schwartz/Wien: Aus der kaiserl. Hof- und Staatsdruckerei, 1853.)

200

Kerstin Eksell

material, in addition to being informative and accurate. This study will therefore include an excursus on the way van Mehren interpreted and arranged his source.

Disposition of Talkhīṣ al-miftāḥ The book consists of three major parts. The first part, “The science of meanings” (ʿIlm al-maʿānī) deals with syntactic constructions and is related to logic.16. The second part is “The science of eloquence” (ʿIlm al-bayān; bayān, “elucidation” or “eloquence,” is also used for “clearness” and “rhetoric.” Cf. the Latin term elocutio, stylistics; that part of rhetoric which deals with imagery – tropes and figures). The third part, “The science of the amazing/devices of style/” (ʿIlm al-badīʿ) concerns the minor tropes, or embellishments, the number of which in al-Qazwīnī’s time had reached a couple of hundred. Mehren’s Die Rhetorik der Araber is devoted to the parts II and III, these two being focused on poetic imagery. This study is restricted to part II only, since the aim is to describe the main categories of poetic imagery and its fundamental system of definitions and processes.

Presentation of al-Bayān, Talkhīṣ al-miftāḥ Part II 1. Main Tripartite Classification of Imagery into Simile, Trope and Metonymy In the introduction al-Qazwīnī presents the subject of presentation, figurative speech, and the fundamental principles for dividing it into main categories. He bases the categorisation on the degree of clearness of indication, i.e., the fact that any figure of speech causes an ambiguity between literal and figurative interpretation. The clarity (and the ambiguity respectively) may be more or less obvious, depending on the semantic distance between the proper term and the figurative term. Three categories are defined: – Firstly, there are expressions in which the meaning of the image completely covers the conventional-lexical meaning of it, so that there is a total correspondence between lexical word and figurative meaning (making the relation between the proper term, the tenor, and the figurative term, the vehicle, clearly indicated).17

16 It has been treated by Jenssen, The Subtleties and Secrets. 17 Here, the two extremes of both trope and figure will be called “tenor” and “vehicle” respectively for matter of convenience. (Other terms occurring are either needed for other use, such as “topic,” “subject” or “analogue,” or considered devoid of meaningful

Figurative Speech According to al-Qazwīnī

201

– Secondly, there are expressions in which the meaning of the image covers part of the conventional-lexical meaning, so that there is a partial correspondence between lexical word and figurative meaning (making the relation between tenor and vehicle less clearly indicated). – Thirdly, the most ambiguous expressions are those in which the meaning does not cover any part of the conventional-lexical word, its sense being communicated only by some kind of adherence (necessary relation; contiguity)18 between the conventional- lexical word and the vehicle, the understanding of the relation between tenor and vehicle being conditioned by convention or cultural context. All three categories obviously do suppose some kind of adherence (necessary relationship) between tenor and vehicle. In the first case of complete correspondence, we are dealing with the simile (tashbīh), where the vehicle preserves its conventional meaning. The second category consists of the trope (majāz), where the vehicle is used with only part of its conventional meaning. The third category consists of the metonymy (kināya), in which the vehicle may or may not preserve its conventional meaning. The simile is clearly stated (grammatically). As for the trope and the metonymy, they must be interpreted by some kind of link, an explanatory word or phrasing in the near context of the figurative speech, otherwise the vehicles will be understood in their conventional senses. Even if simile is not a trope (but a figure, a grammatical construction), important parts of the construction of the trope, majāz, are dependent on the simile, which is why it will be treated at length in the following. Comment: This is one of the very few occasions on which Mehren shortens the source text considerably. Bauer calls this primary classification a “reference rhetoric” (Referenzrhetorik).19 In this concise presentation al-Qazwīnī depends on al-Sakkākī, whose concept of adherence (necessary relation), iltizām, is elaborately introduced in his Miftāḥ. However, al-Qazwīnī mentions it more in passing and restricts himself to the classification according to the sharing of semantic domains.

functionality, such as the traditional primum and secumdum comparationis for the extremes of the simile.) 18 “Adherence”: the English term for Arabic luzūm from Smyth, The Canonical Formulation, p. 17. 19 Bauer, Arabische Kultur, pp. 127–128.

202

Kerstin Eksell

2.  Definition of Simile Simile is defined as the indication of sharing, ishtirāk, of something with something else (in meaning or intention). It is to be distinguished from a metaphor. Four elements are to be considered: The two terms (tenor and vehicle), al-mushabbah, (that which is likened, and al-mushabbah bih, that with the help of which something is likened); the ground of comparison (point of similarity), wajh altashbīh (the face of similarity); and the particle of comparison, al-adā (the tool). To the category of similes is also included the equational type of expression such as “Zaid is a lion,” which is considered to be an elliptic simile. Comment: Mehren does not include the definition of simile in his translation.20 Compared to Western tradition, it is interesting that the equational type is considered a simile. In a historical perspective opinions have been divided on this question. Aristotle for one considered the equational type to be a kind of metaphor. Al-Qazwīnī sides with his predecessor al-Jurjānī and al-Sakkākī. He notes the definition another couple of times in the presentation and seems to be well aware of it being a point of scholarly discussion. As for the classification of the main semantic categories concerning the two terms, the tenor and the vehicle, al-Qazwīnī mentions only the concepts of “sense-perceptual,” ḥissī (e.g., “the chin is like a rose”) and “intellectual,” ʿaqlī (e.g., “learning is like life”) with possible combinations of the two (e.g., mixed as in “death is like a predatory animal”). Comment: The opposition sense-perceptual vs. intellectual parallels what we nowadays usually call concrete vs. abstract (since “intellectual” implies something perceived outside the senses, and “concrete” having acquired a meaning of something that is perceived by the senses). Several other classifications usual in Western tradition are missing here, typically animate vs. inanimate and genus vs. species.21 Classifications of the point of similarity occupy in fact more space than those of the relationships between the two extremes of the image. Here are mentioned the difference between real (ḥaqīqī) and imaginary (takhyīlī) grounds, as well as whether the ground is to be found within a semantic domain common for both

20 Mehren, Rhetorik, p. 20. 21 Bauer has an interesting discussion of this point, arguing that it demonstrates a fundamentally different way of defining the simile from the psychological/neurophysical perception on part of the hearer, instead of the semantic relationship between the extremes. See Bauer, Arabic Culture, p. 131.

Figurative Speech According to al-Qazwīnī

203

extremes, or outside it. Another type of classification is made regarding the syntagmatic complexity of the simile, whether any of its extremes is simple, composite or multiple. Finally, also the ground may be sense-perceptual or intellectual. The variations of these patterns are manifold, and all of them are exemplified. After these classifications al-Qazwīnī mentions the mode of irony, including witty and incisive expressions) as a particular subcategory. Purpose of simile: The purpose of the simile is usually to highlight a particular characteristic of the tenor by means of the chosen vehicle. The shared property is usually more obvious or distinct in the vehicle than in the tenor. Thus the simile is typically hyperbolical, the vehicle used to making the tenor more beautiful or more disgusting, or specifying something new, not ordinarily thought of, in the tenor. Structure of the simile on discourse level: Both tenor, vehicle and ground may consist of several components, which may be arranged in variant ways, allowing for several possible combinations. An important term here is the tamthīl, often translated with “analogy,” which means that the ground may consist of several components, which together constitute the effectual ground. (The term covers a semantic spectrum of exemplification, comparison, picturing, allegory and description.) Aesthetic evaluation: The comparison is further distinguished with regard to its being close, qarīb, easily grasped, i.e., banal and conventional, or distant, baʿīd, i.e., new and original. The more unusual, the more beautiful is the simile. It is for example banal to say that “the sun is like a polished mirror,” but original and beautiful to say that “it is like a mirror in the hand of someone trembling.” This distinction is of course of great importance for the valuation of the aesthetic effect of the simile. Another aesthetic criterion is whether the simile is maqbūl, fulfilled, i.e., agreeable, or mardūd, not fulfilled, i.e., rejectable. Al-Qazwīnī does not enter into details here, he simply summarises a lengthy exposition by al-Sakkākī (and others).

3.  The Trope, majāz Definition of trope vs. veritative image: In the introduction to the chapter on the majāz, al-Qazwīnī defines the fundamental difference between an image in a broad sense and a trope: the image may be true, veritative, but a trope is not true in the same sense, since it is based on the use of a word in a meaning other than its conventional one. The term means literally

204

Kerstin Eksell

“that which is exceeded, stretched over a limit.” It is a matter of discussion whether a transformation of meaning actually takes place: according to al-Qazwīnī, it does. The question is discussed in the subsequent presentation of metaphor. Definition of trope: A majāz is the use of a word in a meaning other than its conventional one. There must be some kind of connection, ʿilāqa, between the tropical and the conventional meaning, and the tropical meaning must be indicated by some link, qarīna, mentioned in the context. The connection must be immediately visible (comprehensible), based on mulāḥaza “auf grund einer (ideellen) Augenverbundung.”22 The trope, majāz, may be divided into two types: A) The majāz mursal, the free (unrestricted) trope, is based on a looser kind of relation between the tenor and the vehicle than in the metaphor. It corresponds to synecdoche (Gr. “taking up together,” for which there is no corresponding term in Arabic). The majāz mursal (like synecdoche) may design a variety of relations, e.g.: • part of the whole; whole of the part; • cause for effect; effect for cause; • species for genus; genus for species. The first example given by al-Qazwīnī is “hand,” yad, as a multifunctional image of (the provision of) comfort and prosperity, of power and of (being the well) of provision. A further nine examples demonstrate various kinds of majāz mursal, e.g., the eye (for the seer); the finger (for the tip of the finger); rain (for the growing plants); and wine (for grapes); the village (for the people of the village). Comment: Majāz mursal is translated by Taha Hussein as “metaphor libre.” Abdul-Raof calls it hyballage (not using the term synecdoche at all), a term which in antique rhetoric is related to, and partly overlapping with, synecdoche and metonymy.23

22 ʿAbd al-Qāhir al-Jurjānī, Die Geheimnisse der Wortkunst (Asrār al-balāġa) des ʿAbdalqāhir al-Curcānī. Aus dem arabischen übersetzt von Hellmut Ritter. Bibliotheca Islamica Band 19 (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag GMBH, 1959), p. 379. 23 Abdul-Raof, Arabic Rhetoric, p. 225. Cf. Quintilian, referring to Cicero in Qunitilian, Institutio Oratoria, comments on the shifting terminology, see below in “Comparative Remarks, metonymy.”

Figurative Speech According to al-Qazwīnī

205

B 1)  Classification on the semantic level. The istiʿāra (“borrowing”), corresponding to “metaphor,” is the kind of trope that is based on similarity between tenor and vehicle. It is the most important kind of tropes, and at times it is not quite clear whether al-Qazwīnī is referring to majāz in general or to istiʿāra in particular (a confusion not unusual among Arabic scholars). Metaphor has of course much in common with simile, which explains why al-Qazwīnī has paid so much attention to simile in his presentation. (Mehren adds that the two extremes are called al-mustaʿār lahu and al-mustaʿār minhu, analogously to the extremes of the simile.) Al- Qazwīnī states that the istiʿāra, when registered as real (belonging to reality), may be either sense-perceptual, ḥissī, or intellectual, ʿaqlī (Ar. text p. 29, 1.1–2). The first type is exemplified by the relation of [brave man – lion], and the second by the relation of [true faith – straight way] (Qur. 1:5). Concerning the degree of substitution (or transformation) effected by the metaphor, Qazwīnī goes on to say that metaphor is a linguistic trope, majāz lughawī, because it is expressed either by the vehicle (but not by the tenor) or by the general common property of both (Ar. text p. 29: 4). It is called ʿaqlī, intellectual, (only in the sense) that the vehicle operates intellectually (not perceptually), but it is (still) linguistic, lughawī (operating with linguistic properties), since the naming claimed in the vehicle is only part of the whole name. The same holds true even for poetical expressions of amazement such as in the examples given, in which “sun” and “moon” respectively are used to convey the extraordinary beauty of a person (Ar. text p. 30, l. 5). The idea that the metaphor of sun or moon should be built on anything else than the lexical meaning of the vehicle must be rejected. The metaphor is meant to arouse amazement and achieves this effect by simulating that the vehicle is a real sun or moon, or to “pretending to forget,” tanāsī, that there is an underlying comparison and that the vehicle is used hyperbolically. Comment: In his commentary Mehren devotes considerable space to explaining the views of al-Qazwīnī with respect to the nature of the metaphor, with reason since al-Qazwīnī’s text is so condensed as to be almost incomprehensible. It is probably even somewhat corrupted. Al-Qazwīni follows closely the argumentation put forward by al-Jurjānī, including terms and examples, and in agreement with, e.g., al-Sakkākī: The metaphor expresses only its transferred and not its original lexical meaning. This is apparent, e.g., from the fact that the metaphor “lion” for a courageous man does not mean that the man is like a lion in its total capacity (wild animal, etc.) but only with regard to the characteristics of being courageous and strong. Thus the metaphor must be interpreted as it stands with

206

Kerstin Eksell

its transferred meaning, i.e., depending on a shift in the lexical meaning (using properties of language for achieving its effect).24 There is also the problem of truth vs. lie (veritative, ḥaqīqī vs. imaginary, takhyīlī): a trope or metaphor is obviously a kind of lie.25 How to distinguish it from an ordinary lie, making it morally neutral? The question is ancient, and of relevance for Quranic exegesis: images in the Quran are abundant. Al-Qazwīnī follows the established arguments for accepting distortions of reality by imagery: it is a poetical device not to be understood as an attempt on part of the speaker to state it as literal truth but is typically constructed for analysis, not for spontaneous interpretation, and meant for hyperbole. Its identity as a trope must be (clearly) indicated in the textual context.26 (Further below in the section “Comparative Remarks” on the philosophical connection.) Details of classification according to the relation between the parts of the metaphor: Al-Qazwīnī mentions only a few possible ways of classification, most of which are derived from the system lined out for the simile. a) The relation between the tenor and the vehicle may be compatible, wifāqiyya, or contradictory, ʿinādiyya. To the contradictory relations belong for example ironical or witty metaphors (al-tahakkumiyya or al-tamlīḥiyya), e.g., “he gave them the happy news about the eternal punishment.” b) The ground, al-jāmiʿ, may be within both tenor and vehicle, dākhil, e.g., [to fly quickly – to hurry], or outside, ghayru dākhil, e.g., [sun – shining face], where “shining” is an occasional quality; and either general, ʿāmma, or special, khāṣṣa.

24 Mehren, Rhetorik, pp. 81–83. – Others, the view of which is refuted by al-Qazwīnī, argued that the use of the word metaphorically fused in the image to a new thought, whereby the original lexical meaning was preserved. The example in this text with “sun” and “moon” was interpreted by the “ʿaqlī”-supporters (intellectual) to signify a total fusion, as if the beautiful person had in fact become a sun or a moon, whereas the “lughawī”-supporters (linguistic-) pointed out that the two terms were still separated, that the metaphor was a hyperbole to make the distinction between the two compared objects seemingly (but not really) disappear. The views of al-Jurjānī are especially interesting, since he first seems to have been in favour of the ʿaqlī-view, and later appears in favour of the lughawī-view. The explication of the discussion by Mehren is referred to as the (best) authority on the problem in Bonebakker’s lemma on the istiʿāra in Encyclopedia of Islam. 25 Cf. also the Arabic saying: “The best kind of poetry is the one that lies most,” with commentary in al-Jurjānī, Geheimnisse, p. 292; Seeger A. Bonebakker, The Kitāb Naqd al-Shiʿr of Qudāma b. al-Jaʿfar (Leiden: Brill, 1956), p. 36. 26 Mehren, Rhetorik, pp. 81–83.

Figurative Speech According to al-Qazwīnī

207

c) The relations may be sense-perceptual or intellectual (six possible combinations with regard to tenor, vehicle and ground). d) With regard to the vehicle, the transferred word: if this is a noun, the metaphor is called aṣliyya (original, e.g., “lion”); if it is a verb, or a word derived from a verb (participle, adjective), it is called tabaʿiyya (following, derived). (The link, qarīna, may be contained within the subject or the object.) e) The metaphor is either absolute, muṭlaqa (standing alone), or mujarrada or murashshaḥa, two different kinds of metaphor with appositions; or both mujarrada and murashshaḥa. B2)  Classification of metaphor, istiʿāra, on the discourse (logic) level: The metaphor (alternatively the trope in general) may be: a) simple, mufrada; b) composite, murakkaba; c) fantastic, takhyīliyya a) The metaphor is based on a single ground of comparison, and the vehicle consists of one word or syntagma. b) The composite metaphor, istiʿāra bi-l-sabīl al-tamthīl, corresponds to the tamthīl of the simile, i.e., the ground of comparison is made up of several different elements, which together constitute an image; the vehicle cannot be identified with any single word or syntagma but only with the whole sentence or paragraph. (Many proverbs consist of petrified metaphors of this kind.) c) The fantastic metaphor, istiʿāra takhyīliyya, deserves some further explanation. Al-Qazwīnī defines it as follows: A simile may be implied within the mind without any of basic elements being expressed /explicitly/ except the tenor, while an indication of the [hidden simile] is provided by assigning to the tenor something, which is specific to the vehicle. Then this simile is called a metaphor [by means of] allusion, istiʿāra bi-l-kināya or [one which is] alluded to (maknī ʿanhā). The assignation of that specific thing to the tenor is called a metaphor by means of make-believe, istiʿāra takhyīliyya.27

27 The translation is done with consideration to the corresponding text from the Īdāḥ translated by Gelder, al-Khaṭīb, p. 118, although I have made it more literal for the purpose. (A sentence in the Iḍāḥ text is missing from this text.) The term takhyīliyya is translated here as “make-believe” after Henirichs, Takhyīl, pp. 1–2. Mehren uses: “die in der Phantasie begründete Metapher” (p. 39).

208

Kerstin Eksell

The first example given by al-Qazwīnī in this text source is: “When death sinks its claws in, you find amulets of no avail.” The implied simile is [Death is like a predatory animal], and the assignation of [claws] to [Death] indicates the hidden simile clearly. Comment: The basic definition of this kind of metaphor by al-Qazwīnī is obviously a) that there is an underlying simile, which is only implied (contained; hidden in the mind)), yudmar bi-nafsihi (p. 39, Arabic text), the vehicle of which is being suppressed; b) that the tenor is provided by an assignation (typically a predicate or an attribute, according to van Mehren p. 39) which clearly indicates the suppressed vehicle.28 An alternative term might be the elliptic metaphor, rather than the somewhat literal translation of takhyīlī as “make-believe” or “image-invoking.” Approaching the problem complex from slightly different angles, there are important studies on the term of takhyīl as well as on this particular kind of metaphor, which may be summarised as follows: In the definition given above, al-Qazwīnī incorporates a previous definition by al-Jurjānī of a metaphor which is characterised a) by the above specifications (suppressed simile with assigned indication); and b) by having no substrate, dhāt, in reality. Al-Jurjānī’s main example is an image from the pre-Islamic poet Labīd about a cold and windy morning with “its reins in the hand of the north wind.” The north wind does not have a hand, thus there is no substrate. The example is also unreal. In his own extended version of the Talkhīṣ, the Īḍāḥ, al-Qazwīnī maintains the introductory definition of this type of metaphor but enters the example with [the hand of the north wind] from al-Jurjānī before his own example of [Death] with [its claws].29 Already Ritter pointed out that al-Jurjānī’s concept was redefined as a taxyīlī metaphor by later scholars.30 This kind of metaphor, “the hand of the northwind” in Arabic poetry in general, has been dealt with in a well-known study by Wolfhart Heinnrichs.31 Concerning the word takhyīlī, it has a wide spectrum of significance, from a vague meaning of (anything) “imaginary” in general, as well as in the discipline of logic “image-evoking” or as here, suggested by Heinrichs, “make-believe.”

28 A similar definition shortly given in Bauer, Arabische Kultur, p. 132. 29 Gelder, al-Khaṭīb, pp. 118–119. 30 Al-Jurjānī, Geheimnisse, p. 64, note 43. 31 Wolfhart Heinrichs, The Hand of the North Wind. Opinions of Metaphor and the Early Meaning of istiʿāra in Arabic Poetics. = Abhandlungen für die Kunde des Morgenlandes XLIV, 2 (Wiesbaden: Kommisssionsverlag Franz Steiner GMBH, 1977).

Figurative Speech According to al-Qazwīnī

209

Al-Jurjānī uses the term to define another kind of metaphor, the fantastic or phantasmagorical one, a metaphor which is in conflict with reality (as against the elliptic statement or the metaphor, which both may be brought back to a /real/ basis).32 Here the metaphors tend to be characterised by “mock analogy” or “mock aetiology.”33 However, most of the examples of the “phantastic” takhyīlī metaphor as defined by al-Jurjānī, if not all, would fit into the definition by al-Qazwīnī, who does not consider the real vs. unreal aspect in this context, but only the formal (logical) construction of the metaphor. Al-Qazwīnī may have reserved the main definition to this part of the Talkhīṣ and the minor ones (like ḥusn al-taʿ līl) to the badīʿ part.34 For the philosophical development of the term takhyīlī in connection with “poetic syllogism,” see several articles by Gregor Schoeler.35 An overview of the logical- philosophical aspect of Aristotelian poetics and rhetoric in Arabic tradition is given by Deborah I. Black.36 The problem complex will be further commented on in the section “Comparative Remarks” below.

4. Metonymy, kināya A kināya is a general term for the naming of something by means of a word meaning something else. “Allusion” would in many cases be an appropriate term. As a technical term it corresponds to metonymy. Al-Qazwīnī has a three-fold definition. Firstly, as mentioned above, kināya differs from both simile and trope in using two terms which have no common semes at all. Secondly (as opposed to trope, majāz, in which the second term, the vehicle, functions only in its transferred

32 Al-Jurjānī, Geheimnisse, pp. 295–296. 33 Heinrichs, Takhyīl, pp. 11–13. 34 For equating the takhyīlī metaphor with the badīʿ trope of taʿlīl, assigning a cause to someone (untruthfully; mock aetiology), see Geert Jan van Gelder, “A Good Cause: Fantastic Aetiology (Ḥusn al-taʿlīl) in Arabic Poetics,” in: Takhyīl. The Imaginary in Classical Arabic Poetics. Part I. Texts. Selected, translated and annotated by Geert Jan van Gelder and Marlé Hammond. With an Introduction by Wolfhart Heinrichs and a Preface by Anne Sheppard. Part 2: Studies, ed. Geert Jan van Gelder and Marlé Hammond (Cambridge: Gibb Memorial Trust, 2009), pp. 221–237. – One statement in these highly rewarding studies differs from my presentation above: the typical trait of the takhyīlī metaphor as defined by al-Qazwīnī is not the lack of a substrate, but the suppression of an underlying simile. 35 Gregor Schoeler, “The ‘Poetic Syllogism’ Revisited,” Oriens, Vol. 41 (2013), pp. 1–26. 36 Black, Logic.

210

Kerstin Eksell

meaning), the second term may be interpreted in two ways, preserving its original meaning, while simultaneously designing a transferred meaning. Thirdly, al-Qazwīnī follows his predecessor al-Sakkākī maintaining that the relation of necessary adherence, iltizām, between the first and second terms is reversed in metonymy, contrasting with that of simile and trope: the first term = the cause (malzūm) and the second term = the effect (lāzim) (with Mehren’s terminology) in simile and trope, whereas the second term = the cause and the first term = the effect in metonymy. Comment. The third part of the definition is not logical, according to Mehren.37 It is a summarised mirroring of the rather scholastic system established by alSakkākī who took pains to integrate his figures and tropes into a complete system, whatever the cost. However, there is a relevant kern in the argumentation, viz., that although the first and second terms of a metonymy are not semantically related, they still have to possess some kind of consequential relation, making the image understandable. The connection between the terms appears as a kind of “cultural logic,” as Smyth expresses it.38 Two examples of metonymy using adjectives will suffice: A [long sword belt] for a [tall person] (a tall person is someone who has a long sword belt, ṭawīl al-najād, lit. tall/long of sword belt). [Much ashes (on the herd)] is a [generous person]: kathīr al-ramād (lit. much of ashes): someone who keeps on preparing food for his guests so that the hearth is full of ashes.) Metonymy may also be created by means of nouns or predicates, and they may be close or distant. If the expression does not contain an adherence between two terms, it is simply an allusion or hint, taʿrīḍ.

Excursus: Van Mehren’s Presentation of Talkhīṣ al-miftāḥ Mehren’s work is both a translation and a commentary, as he himself states already in the title. He divides his presentation in two parts: the first part (pp. 20–42) consists of a translation of al-Qazwīnī’s text. Mostly, the translation follows the original

37 On terminology and logic, see Mehren, Rhetorik, pp. 92–93. 38 Smyth, The Canonical Formulation, pp. 15–21. Smyth explains the theory of al-Sakkākī in detail, using for malzūm the translation “the thing from which something else follows necessarily” and for lāzim “that which necessarily follows from something else.”

Figurative Speech According to al-Qazwīnī

211

faithfully, including an abundance of poetry quotations both in Arabic script and in German translation. Rarely Mehren abridges the text to some extent, omitting parts which he finds too scholastic to be useful or even adding a couple of explaining words (e.g., “attribute or participle,” p. 39; al-mustaʿār lahu and al-mustaʿār minhu, p. 33). To increase the readability he arranges the text in sections, chapters and paragraphs, providing each part of the text with a title. Main titles are distinguished from subtitles, and the discourse of the text furthermore ordered into numbers and letters of enumeration and grouping. The original Arabic text follows the ordinary, traditional way of presenting a text with almost no differentiation in setting and typography, which does not facilitate the reading. The second part (pp. 43–96) constitutes Mehren’s commentary, line by line, of al-Qazwīnī’s text. Difficult parts of the text, including those parts omitted in the translation, are presented here, often in direct translation or with a periphrasis, in both cases followed by elucidating explanation and personal comments. Often a historical perspective is added, allowing the reader to follow lines of argumentation among the Arabic scholars. The most rewarding of those commentaries, in my opinion, are the ones concerning the metaphor. Mehren explains the argumentation about the nature of the process of transformation of the vehicle. He also recaptures the views on the relativity of truth in imagery. Another change of some benefit to the reader is his omitting the theory of adherence (iltizām) from the presentation, first in the introductory definitions (p. 20, Commentary, p. 54) and later in the definitions of metonymy (p. 41, Commentary, pp. 92–93). According to Mehren, this theory is illogical and best removed. The Arabic text is extensive and difficult: the poetry quoted represents an elevated style, the terminology of the theoretical statements presupposes considerable detail knowledge, and the historical context of the development of poetics appears entangled. Mehren’s careful and adequate presentation goes a long way to make the intentions of al-Qazwīnī readable and understandable.39 39 Rarely, Mehren’s handling of the source text is less successful. When he banishes the theory of the adherence (luzūm) from the introductory definition of the three-partite structure, he also happens to obliterate the quite meaningful differentiation of degree of clarity, which is basic for the reasoning by al-Qazwīnī. One may also have wished that the definition of simile as one of sharing stated by al-Qazwīnī should have been included in Mehren’s translation. Finally, it is unfortunate to render Arabic majāz by German “Metapher,” leaving the term istiʿāra untranslated. As is apparent from the definitions of these terms by al-Qazwīnī (and his predecessors), majāz is trope, the wider concept, and istiʿāra is metaphor, a subcategory of the trope.

212

Kerstin Eksell

In addition to the translation and commentary, Die Rhetorik der Araber also contains the Arabic text by al-Qazwīnī, as well as the commentary by al-Taftazānī, the most well-known of the many commentators of the Talkhīṣ.40 The section on the embellishment tropes, the badīʿ, which is not treated here, appears to be treated with the same command of the subject.

Comparative Remarks Here is a tentative outline of similarities and differences between al-Qazwīnī, his predecessors in Arabic poetics, and the western antique to modern tradition of figurative speech. Before starting, it should be pointed out that there is a wide variety of definitions of the terms involved, and boundaries between categories tend to shift. From the antique and on, there are grey zones which reappear in modern theory, all related to the manifold cognitive composition of imagery which allows for overlapping taxonomies on different levels. Such grey zones are found for the classification of different kinds of metaphor; for differentiating between synecdoche and metonymy and their tropical properties, and, finally, for defining according to semantic–cognitive–syntactic properties or to discursive–logical ones.41 As Quinitilian expresses it: “This is a subject which has given rise to interminable disputes among the teachers of literature, who have quarrelled no less violently with the philosophers than among themselves over the number of the genera and species into which tropes may be divided, their number and their correct classification.”42

Al- Qazwīnī in Relation to Internal Arabic Tradition: al-Sakkākī and al-Jurjānī Al-Qazwīnī mostly follows his predecessors closely, although the brevity of his presentation leads to many omissions and abbreviations. Al-Jurjānī and al-Sakkākī devote for example long sections to describing the emotive effects of the tropes and similes, all of which is absent from the Talkhīṣ. Much of the elaboration of the nature of trope and metaphor in the Asrār by al-Jurjānī is missing in the Talkhīṣ. 40 Mehren does not quite specify which of the many manuscripts available he has used. A random check shows Mehren’s edition to be in close agreement with the digitalised ms. from the Royal Library of Copenhagen (not available to Mehren). 41 Cf. Goatly, The Language of Metaphors, pp. 20–21 on “the fuzziness” of relations of semantic concepts. 42 Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria, trans. H. E. Butler (London/New York: William Heinemann and G. P. Putnam’s Sons, Loeb Classical Library, 1922), Book 8: 6, 1. www. penelope.uchicago.edu/…/quintilian/institutio_oratoria.

Figurative Speech According to al-Qazwīnī

213

And the original theory about the relations between the extremes of a trope by al-Sakkākī (the luzūm concept) is only shortly referred to in the Talkhīṣ. On the other hand, al-Qazwīnī also systematises and distils early presentations. The shift of definition regarding the takhyīlī metaphor has been noted. Another clarification is the clear three-partite division according to discursive complexity, the origins of which can be found in his predecessors.43 – Further studies concerning details of concordance and deviation between the three of them ought to be fruitful.

Al-Qazwīnī’s Main Classification of Figurative Speech in Relation to Modern Tropical Theory, and to the Antique Tradition The Problem As mentioned above in the Introduction, the present state of research presumes that classical Arabic poetics is mainly an internal development, starting with the need for interpreting the Quran. Furthermore, it is claimed that the Arabs had but scanty information about Aristotle’s Poetics, which could consequently not have influenced the development in Arab poetics. One of the reasons for the negligence of the Poetics is explained as a result of the bad translation of this work into Arabic by Abū Bishr Mattā.44 Although not disputing those statements as such, I suggest that the relationship between Arabic figurative speech and the antique tradition needs to be further investigated within a broader frame. The section on figurative speech in the Poetics is in fact quite short. Aristotle’s views were considerably extended already in Hellenistic time. His definition of metaphor was split up into trope, metaphor, synecdoche and metonymy, and further into a couple of hundred minor tropes, and the discipline of stylistics was extended and varied by numerous scholars. And even if the translation by Abū Bishr Mattā is deficient in some respects, it is indeed accurate as far as the parts on figurative speech is concerned. 43 This does not necessarily mean that al-Qazwīnī invented those improvements himself. There are indications that the system was fairly established already at the time of alJurjānī: al-Jurjānī explains for example that he has chosen to abandon the ordinary order of presentation: tashbīh – majāz – istiʿāra, preferring the order istiʿāra –tashbīh – majāz. al-Jurjānī, Geheimnisse, p. 45f. (Al-Sakkākī and al-Qazwīnī both stick to the “usual” order.) 44 For a detailed presentation of the transmission of the Poetics, including in Arabic, see Leonardo Tarán and Dimitri Gutas, Aristotle: Poetics. Editio Maior of the Greek Text with Historical Introductions and Philological Commentaries (Leiden: Brill, 2012).

214

Kerstin Eksell

Although we have not yet found any other specific antique or Arabic source concerning the ornamentation of style which may have been used by the late scholars, there are such possibilities. Obviously, the Arabs had access to antique material which has since been lost. Uwe Vagelpohl points out that in the reception history of the Rhetoric and the Poetics alone, commentaries discussing those two works display “elements of an interpretive framework that differs in key aspects from that of Aristotle’s immediate audience.”45 The possibility of oral transmission should also be taken into account. As Gregor Schoeler has demonstrated, both Arabic and antique tradition transferred didactic material through an interplay of oral and written media, including learning aurally by heart as well as taking notes and preparing aides-mémoire.46 Instead of tracing a possible trajectory, I have chosen to compare the Talkhīṣ by al-Qazwīnī to the Institutio oratoria by Quintilian. Quintilian’s work reflects the assembled state of knowledge in the first century AD. The Greek heritage is accentuated by his use of Greek technical terms together with the Latin ones.47 Here, pertinent points of comparison have been selected for discussion regarding the relationship between stylistics in the antique and in late Arabic poetics.

1.  Single Figures of Speech The categories of simile and trope, including metaphor, synecdoche and metonymy, correspond to a great extent to the main categories given in Western tradition, from the antique until modern time. Looking at the definitions of the single figures of speech, we find a high degree of concord.48 45 Uwe Vagelpohl, The Rhetoric and Poetics in the Islamic World, p. 85. In the same passage, he mentions that such elements “appear in different configurations throughout the reception history of the two works. In addition, they were independent of the translations […] A case in point is the Arabic reception of the Poetics, which started even before the text itself was translated, possibly under the influence of a lost late antique summary of the Organon,” pp. 85–86. 46 Gregor Schoeler, The Oral and the Written in Early Islam, trans. Uwe Vagelpohl, edited and introduced by James E. Montgomery (London: Routledge, 2006), pp. 45–86. 47 Regarding Qunintilian’s sources: “Although [the 4th–1st centuries BCE] were the time when classical rhetoric and rhetorical education assumed the form that it largely retained, primary sources are lacking for the reconstruction of these developments.” See Matthew B. Roller, “Classical Rhetoric,” in: Oxford Encyclopedia of Rhetoric, ed. Thomas O. Sloane (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001, online version 2006), p. 101. 48 If not otherwise specified, the definitions following are taken from Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria, Book 8, Chapter 6, on tropes, and Goatly, The Language of Metaphors. For Aristotle, see Aristotle, Aristotle’s Art of Poetry. A Greek View of Poetry and Drama.

Figurative Speech According to al-Qazwīnī

215

i) simile: Quintilian calls it “an explicit comparison,” a figure (grammatical construction). Goatly defines similarity to mean “sharing.” Al-Qazwīnī: Simile is defined as the indication of sharing, ishtirāk, of something with something else. As for subdivisions of simile, al-Qazwīnī mentions only the main one, senseperceptual vs. intellectual (concrete – abstract), whereas the complex tree pattern appearing in Western tradition is missing (living vs. non-living; animate – nonanimate; human – animal, species – genus). ii) trope: According to Quintilian, “a trope is the conversion of a word or phrase, from its proper signification to another, in order to increase its force.” It is also roughly the definition by Aristotle for the metaphor. It is still the ordinary way of defining a trope: “a figure of speech which consists in the use of a word or phrase other than that which is proper to it…”49 Al-Qazwīnī: A majāz is the use of a word in a meaning other than its conventional one. iii) metaphor: Quintilian says: “On the whole, the metaphor is a short comparison, differing from the comparison in this respect, that in the one, an object is compared with the thing which we wish to illustrate. In the other, the object is put instead of the thing itself.” Goatly, too, stresses the “unconventional” use of a word based on “similarity, matching or analogy.”50 Al-Qazwīnī: The istiʿāra (“borrowing”), corresponding to “metaphor,” is the kind of trope that is based on similarity between tenor and vehicle. According to al-Qazwīnī and his predecessors, the identifying metaphor of the type “he is a lion” is to be counted as a simile. The question has been debated in the Western tradition, although the type is here usually considered as a metaphor (so by Quintilian, also Goatly). Cf. however, that already Aristotle, although classifying them as simile and metaphor respectively, does point out that there is a very small difference between the two, consisting only in the formal interpolation of a comparing particle, “like, as.”51 With an Introduction and Explanations by W. Hamilton Fyfe (Oxford: Oxford Clarendon Press, 1940), p. 56f. “Metaphor consists in giving the thing a name that belongs to something else (the transference being either from genus to species, or from species to genus, or from species to species, or on grounds of analogy).” 49 Goatly, The Language of Metaphors, p. 8. 50 Goatly, The Language of Metaphors, pp. 108–109. 51 Aristotle, The “Art” of Rhetoric. With an English Translation by John Henry Freese, Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge MA, London, England: Harvard University Press, 1926), p. 366f.

216

Kerstin Eksell

An interesting correspondence is the fact that this type of metaphor/simile is consistently exemplified with the comparison of [man to lion] all the way from Aristotle, to Quintilian and the late antique, and finally to al-Jurjānī (and alQazwīnī). There is nothing self-evident about this choice of extremes. The classification of subclasses of metaphor has brought about a great number of different types, differing from scholar to scholar. In this context, these differences will not be treated. iv) synecdoche: Quintilian, Book 8, Cp. 6, § 19: “Synecdoche is adapted to give variety to language by letting us understand the plural from the singular, the whole from a part, a genus from the species, something following from something preceding, and vice versa.” Modern Western theory has of course developed from the antique tradition, to which it is partly identical. Kenneth Burke describes synecdoche as “part of the whole, whole for the part, container for the contained, sign for the thing signified, material for the thing made […] cause for the effect, effect for the cause, genus for the species, species for the genus, material for the thing made.”52 Al-Qazwīnī: The majāz mursal, the free majāz, is based on a looser kind of relation between the tenor and the vehicle than in the metaphor. It may design a variety of relations, e.g., part of the whole; whole of the part; cause for effect; effect for cause; species for genus; genus for species. v) metonymy: For Quintilian “there is but a short step from synecdochè to metonymy, which consists in the substitution of one name for another, and, as Cicero tells us, is called hypallage by the rhetoricians. These devices are employed to indicate an invention by substituting the name of the inventor, or a possession by substituting the name of the possessor.”53 Al-Qazwīnī: Metonymy is somewhat vaguely defined. It may be equal to “allusion”; it is not a trope; it consists of two terms which have no common semes at all; the second term preserves its original meaning.

2.  Relation between Synecdoche, Metonymy and Trope The relation between the two figures of speech, the definition of each one of them and their tropical character, is one of the grey zones in Western tradition. According to al-Qazwīnī, metaphor and synecdoche are both tropes, because their vehicles are to some extent transferred in meaning, whereas metonymy is 52 Kenneth Burke, A Grammar of Motives (New York: Prentice Hall, 1945), pp. 507–508. 53 Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria, Book 8, cp. 6.

Figurative Speech According to al-Qazwīnī

217

not a trope, because it preserves its lexical meaning in the imagery expression. This is in agreement with one tradition from antiquity. Al-Qazwīnī has no name for the kind of close vicinity that exists between the two extremes in synecdoche, but al-Jurjānī emphasises that it must be mulāḥaẓa, immediately grasped/visible.54 The examples of synecdoche enumerated by al-Qazwīnī correspond, however, very well to the classification given both by Quintilian and by Burke. In both cases, a tropical character may be stated (some change of meaning in the vehicle), and a common conceptual domain is conditioned (not necessarily a common seme, except in a wide understanding of this term). Others restrict synecdoche to design only the part of the whole or the whole of the parts, in which case the same tropical character and common conceptual domain may be stated. Metonymy is left outside the boundary of the trope in al-Qazwīnī’s system, because the vehicle is used in its lexical meaning without transference. Also those restricting synecdoche to the pars pro toto consider metonymy to be non-tropical. Quintilian remarks that the difference between those two figures of speech is small, and many others have said the same in modern time. Eco, restricting synecdoche to the pars pro toto, defines the type of expressions given above as metonymy, and argues that (in the wide understanding of the term), also metonymy indicates some common property, or semes, between the extremes.55 Al-Qazwīnī stresses that contiguity is necessary for all types mentioned, which has some similarity to the reasoning by Eco’s coupling of metaphor and metonymy.

3.  Main Tropes In Western imagery the main tropes are usually considered to be metaphor, synecdoche, metonymy, and irony. Personification is sometimes included among subclasses of tropes. In Arabic scholarly sources personification, as well as animation of nature, is conspicuously missing. Those figurative expressions are enormously frequent in the poetry, but classified according to other principles, such as metaphor of the takhyīlī type, or aetiology (ḥusn al-taʿlīl). Irony is not a main figure but a subfigure.

54 al-Jurjānī, Asrār, p. 379. 55 Umberto Eco, Semiotics and the Philosophy of Language (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1984), pp. 114–116.

218

Kerstin Eksell

4.  Principal (Gross) Classification of Metaphor The introductory part of Quintilian Book 8: 6 contains the following basic propositions: i)  Tropes may be based on words used “properly” or on words used “metaphorically.” “Some tropes […] arise from words used properly and others from words used metaphorically.” The statement corresponds to the contrast of “veritative” against “tropical,” which introduces al-Qazwīnī’s chapter on trope (majāz) as well. The same contrastive pair (veritative, from ḥaqīqa, vs. tropical, from majāz) is mentioned by al-Jurjānī in the introductory pages of Asrār.56 ii)  Metaphor as the superior kind of trope: (4) Let us begin, then, with the commonest and by far the most beautiful of tropes, namely metaphor, the Greek term for our translatio. It is not merely so natural a turn of speech that it is often employed unconsciously or by uneducated persons, but it is in itself so attractive and elegant that however distinguished the language in which it is embedded it shines forth with a light that is all its own. (5) For if it be correctly and appropriately applied, it is quite impossible for its effect to be commonplace, mean or unpleasing. It adds to the copiousness of language by the interchange of words and by borrowing, and finally succeeds in accomplishing the extremely difficult task of providing a name for everything. (8.6.4-5.)

Also Aristotle has a high regard for metaphor, cf. “But the greatest thing by far is to be a master of metaphor. It is the one thing that cannot be learnt from others; and it is also a sign of genius, since a good metaphor implies an intuitive perception of the similar in dissimilars.”57 This statement is reflected in al-Qazwīnī’s treatment of metaphor as the most important trope. Furthermore, it corresponds very well to a similar introductory statement on the metaphor by al-Jurjānī, who elaborates it in his verbose style: “[metaphor] occurs so often, it contains such wonderful beauties, it comprises such a wide field, it is so inexhaustible […] that its variants and kinds can never be listed completely. – [It] allows a poetical idea to appear over and again in a new form, which gives it a higher rank and nobleness […] in /metaphor,/ the same word may acquire several values of expression.”58 (This enthusiastic description

56 al-Jurjānī, Geheimnisse, p. 45. 57 Aristotle, Aristotle’s Art of Poetry, p. 62. 58 al-Jurjānī, Geheimnisse, p. 62.

Figurative Speech According to al-Qazwīnī

219

goes on for a couple of pages, comparing metaphor to beautiful things such as the full moon, flowers, brides, etc.) iii) Metaphors are either catachresis or based on comparison and hyperbole: Metaphor may be either necessary (translatio de virtute), if used where “there is no literal term,” or transferred, if based on a simile and used for hyperbole. A noun or a verb is transferred from the place to which it properly belongs to another where there is a) either no literal term, or b) the transferred is better than the literal. (my lining) […] As an example of a necessary metaphor I may quote the following usages [e.g.] the crops being thirsty; the fruit suffering, a hard or rough man, there being no literal term for these temperaments. [But:] A man is kindled to anger, has fallen into error: we do so to enhance our meaning. [Purely ornamental:] brilliance of style; Clodius as a fountain (8.6.5-6). This statement should firstly be compared with a correspondence in the Asrār by al-Jurjānī. Continuing his introduction, he distinguishes between two principal types of metaphor: a) one which is based on a comparison and used for hyperbole, ʿalā sabīl aliʿāra wa-l-mubālagha fī-l-tashbīh (in terms of borrowing and hyperbolic comparison);59 b) one which has no substrate, and is not based on comparison, nor used for hyperbole. The second /kind/ consists in taking a noun out of its proper meaning and putting it in a place, where nothing can be seen to point to its meaning or explaining why it is borrowed, there being no connection between the original borrowed term and its newly acquired (metaphorical) meaning.60 The example given is the well-known one from verse by the pre-Islamic poet Labīd: And many a morning of wind and cold I’ve kept at bay When its reins were in the north wind’s hand (bi-yad al-shamāl)61

59 al-Jurjānī, ʿAbd al-Qāhir ibn ʿAbd al-Raḥmān, Asrār al-balāgha, ed. Hellmut Ritter (Istānbūl: Edebiyat Fakültesi,1954), p. 42, line 16; al-Jurjānī, Geheimnisse, pp. 63–64. 60 al-Jurjānī, Asrār, p. 43, lines 17–44, l.1; al-Jurjānī, Geheimnisse, p. 64. 61 For further data on source translation, see Gelder, Al-Khaṭīb, p. 118, note 20.

220

Kerstin Eksell

Al-Jurjānī develops his description over the next couple of pages. In the verse by Labīd, he says, there is no connection to a real thing held in comparison: the north wind does not have a hand. At best, it is possible to imagine an underlying comparison or analogy, that the north wind controls the morning like a rider controls his horse holding the reins.62 But: “All this is nothing but phantasy (takhayyul), fancy (wahm), and presumption in the soul (taqdīr fī-l-nafs), without there being anything (real) to embellish, or substrate (dhāt) to deduce.”63 Al-Jurjānī thus lists four characteristics of this “second” gross category of metaphors, apart from it being different from the first category (metaphor = hyperbole): a) a term is taken out of its proper meaning and put in another place, to which it has no (conventional) connection; b) this term has no substrate; c) the image evoked is only imagined in the mind (takhallul); and d) the figurative expression is based on one or more underlying similes or analogies. As noted above (on the takhyīlī metaphor), al-Qazwīnī transferred this untitled category into his tripartite division of metaphor. In so doing, he named it takhyīlī, image-evoking, and gave as one of its characteristics its being based on an underlying simile (cf. above), i.e., he followed al-Jurjānī in two out of four characteristics. He did not explicitly mention the abusing of the meaning of the borrowed term, nor the lack of substrate. Thus al-Qazwīnī and especially al-Jurjānī are in agreement with Quintilian concerning the main division between the hyperbolic metaphor on the one hand and the metaphor not based on comparison and hyperbole on the other. However, al-Jurjānī specifies that the latter is without substrate, rather than without a specific name. Quintilian is the only one of the three who points to the latter metaphor as being “necessary”; borrowing of a term from another semantic field is done because no adequate term exists. The “necessary metaphor” distinguished by Quintilian is generally recognised as a kind of catachresis (Gr. for “to misuse,” Lat. transl. “to abuse”), giving the thing, which does not have a proper name, a name that belongs to something else. Often the phenomenon is (also) defined, as indicated by the Greek term, as the naming of something by borrowing a name from another semantic category, i.e., applying a word in an unconventional meaning (thus misusing it). The borrowed name functions as the vehicle, and the semantic distance between the original

62 al-Jurjānī, Asrār, p. 44, line 3; al-Jurjānī, Geheimnisse, p. 64. 63 al-Jurjānī, Asrār, p. 44, lines. 4–6; al-Jurjānī, Geheimnisse, p. 65.

Figurative Speech According to al-Qazwīnī

221

meaning of the vehicle and tenor is usually felt to be surprisingly distant. The concept covers several devices. The concept of catachresis, as it appears already in the Poetics by Aristotle, is probably the most well-known poetic example, even if the word catachresis is not mentioned. The metaphor is presented as a variant of the proportional type: “It may be that some of the terms thus related have no special name of their own […] Thus to cast forth seed-corn is called “sowing”; but to cast forth its flame, as said of the sun, has no special name. This nameless act (B), however, stands in just the same relation to its object, sun-light (A) as sowing (D) to the seed-corn (C). Hence the expression in the poet, “sowing around a god-created flame” (D + A).”64 Derrida asks on catachresis, referring to the example of Aristotle: “[…] the sun as a sower: casting its flames as the sower casts his seed: […] is it not a case here of an ‘enigma,’ of a secret narrative (récit) made up of several metaphors or hidden conjunction, the essential character of which is ‘to describe a fact in an impossible combination of words?’ ”65 Chrzanowska-Kluczewska has described a metaphorical continuum in which Catachresis One occupies “one end of the continuum (verging on dead metaphor) and Catachresis Two the opposite end of the cline (one-shot, innovative metaphor) […] In between (occur non-catachrestic metaphors of) varying degrees of conventionalization.” Catachresis Two has a heterogeneous stature. It appears in the concetti of baroque lyric, including English metaphysical poetry (as conceit). It was “in fact a whole bundle of different figurative devices, whose aim was to surprise and sometimes to chock and delight the reader. All in all, the metaphysical conceit played with unusual configurations of linguistic elements.”66 The poetic effects achieved have been variously described as, e.g., “[…] non-banal, poetic, fanciful, live, distant […] unintelligible, destructive […].”67 Quintilian is well aware of this catachrestic spectrum. Speaking of the general demand for clarity in good speech, Quintilian criticises the use of too unusual and unintelligible combination of terms, and he continues: 64 Aristotle, Aristotle’s Art of Poetry, pp. 57–58. 65 See Warminski, Andrzej: Readings in Interpretation. Hölderlin, Hegel, Heidegger, Theory of History and Literature, Vol. 26 (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1987), Prefatory Postscript, p. lvii. 66 Chrzanowska-Kluczewska, Elzbieta. “Catachresis – A Metaphor or a Figure in Its Own Right?” in: Beyond Cognitive Metaphor: Perspectives on Literary Metaphor, Routledge Studies in Rhetoric and Stylistics 3, ed. Monika Fludernik (New York: Routledge, 2011), p. 44. 67 Chrzanowska-Kluczewska, Catachresis, p. 43.

222

Kerstin Eksell

On the other hand, everything that lacks appropriateness will not necessarily suffer from the fault of positive impropriety, because there are, in the first place, many things which have no proper term either in Greek or Latin. (5) For example, the verb iaculari is specially used in the sense of “to throw a javelin,” whereas there is no special verb appropriated to the throwing of a ball or a stake. So, too, while lapidare has the obvious meaning of “to stone,” there is no special word to describe the throwing of clods or potsherds. (6) Hence abuse or catachresis of words becomes necessary […]. (2. 4–6.)

Al-Jurjānī may have been aware of the wide spectrum of catachresis in a way similar to that of Quintilian. In another part of the Asrār, he defines the takhyīlī metaphor: “In sum, what I mean by ‘make-believe’ (takhyīl) here, is that poetry in which the poet ascertains something which is baseless, makes a claim that cannot be scientifically proven, and makes a statement in which he deceives his own self, showing it what it does not see.”68 This definition is made according to a different parameter, that of true vs. false, which places it in another discipline, the logical-philosophical one. According to ʿAyyād, he describes it as a “syllogism fallacy.”69 However, it bears some resemblance to the excessively abusive metaphor, which should be avoided according to Quintilian, or to the Catachresis Two with its possibilities of conceit (positive or negative). To sum up, catachresis is typically characterised a) by the use of a word in an unconventional (and unexpected) surrounding (as vehicle to tenor), b) by the metaphor consisting of one or more underlying figures or tropes, which help to configure the surface metaphor, c) as a more or less fantastic and unreal poetic figure, possessing at least one non-existing element. The Aristotelian example, [the sun casts its flames], is a good example of all three characteristics. Aristotle himself mentions two of them, the abusive naming and the underlying analogy. However, he does not specify the unreal element (the sun becoming a personified actor, a sower).

68 Gelder, “ʿAbd al-Qāhir al-Jurjānī,” in: Takhyīl. The Imaginary in Classical Arabic Poetics, ed. Geert van Gelder and Marlé Hammond. Takhyīl. The Imaginary in Classical Arabic Poetics. Part I. Texts. Selected, translated and annotated by Geert Jan van Gelder and Marlé Hammond. With an Introduction by Wolfhart Heinrichs and a Preface by Anne Sheppard. Part 2: Studies, ed. Geert Jan van Gelder and Marlé Hammond (Cambridge: Gibb Memorial Trust, 2008), p. 37. 69 Shukri Muḥammad ʿAyyād, Kitāb Arisṭūṭālīs fī-l-shiʿr. Naql Abī Bishr Mattā bn Yūnis al-Qunnāʾī min al-suryānī ilā-l-ʿarabī (Al-Qāhira, 1967/1382), p. 289: “al-qiyās al-mukhādīʿ ”.

Figurative Speech According to al-Qazwīnī

223

In the example by al-Jurjānī, the abusive naming is mentioned but only briefly. The unreal element is indicated, defined linguistically as a term having no substrate, as well as occurring only as a “visualisation in the mind” of the speaker/ listener. Al-Qazwīnī, using the same example and a similar one, “the claws of death,” may indicate the unreal element by calling this type of metaphor takhyīlī (image-evoking; make-believe). Both he and al-Jurjānī stress the underlying analogy (even if al-Qazwīnī somewhat inadequately reduces it from an analogy to a simile). Considering the unreal element of al-Jurjānī’s example of catachresis, and the fact that he did not label it, and perhaps in addition to his calling the irrational and (wholly) unreal metaphor takhyīlī, it is understandable that al-Qazwīnī in his turn (following al-Sakkākī) transferred the first category into his so called takhyīlī metaphor, a movement still within the spectrum of catachresis. It remains to compare this line of thought with the definition of takhyīlī from the logicalphilosophical perspective: see the following section.

5. Al-Qazwīnī’s Tripartite Partition of Metaphor and the Philosophical-Rhetoric Connection The structuring of proposals according to the opposition of true vs. false belongs to philosophy and logic. How this was done in Arabic philosophy, following the antique tradition of making the Rhetoric part of the Organon, starting with alFārābī and continuing with Ibn Sīnā, has been thoroughly investigated. For the discipline of stylistics, the focus point of interest has been the poetic syllogism and the corresponding Arabic concept of takhyīl, image-evoking. The poetic syllogism is a kind of syllogism fallacy, which, as the name indicates, is used by poets to evoke poetic images. Its basis is the relation between a (proportional) metaphor or a simile and a syllogism; the former may (usually) be restructured as a syllogism (with one term truncated). It means defining an image logically, liberating, so to speak, the poet from the need to argue logically, or even to tell the truth. For detailed analyses of the historical development of this concept in Arabic rhetoric philosophy, see the articles by Gregor Schoeler.70 The Arabic term takhyīl corresponds to Greek phantasia. Al-Jurjānī incorporates the concept in his stylistic theory as a “syllogism fallacy,” as mentioned in the previous section. As we have seen, al-Qazwīnī, following al-Jurjānī but classifying more strictly, makes a tripartite division of metaphor into: 70 Especially Gregor Schoeler, The ‘Poetic Syllogism’ Revisited.

224

Kerstin Eksell

– simple (regarding the semantic relations between the two extremes of the metaphor) – composite (murakkab, similar to the tamthīl of the simile, i.e., analogy between several layers of comparison or metaphor achieving an assembled effect) – takhyīlī (defined as a fusion of Catachresis One and Catachresis Two, see section before; based on an underlying tamthīl or simile, with a truncated member; probably also corresponding to the poetic or image-evoking syllogism of al-Jurjānī, but without mentioning of the irrational aspect). The purpose of this study is not to immerse further into this problem complex in which many details are still unknown. Here, it suffices to point out the obvious antique origin of the Arabic argumentation.71 – The historic contiguity is supported by the fact that much later, the Italian baroque theoretician Emanuele Tesauro makes precisely the same tripartite division of metaphor into simple, complex and as “poetic argument.”72 71 One question deserving further study is whether the poetic syllogism as defined by al-Qazwīnī should be viewed as an enthymeme, the rhetorical correspondence to syllogism. Black, Logic, argues against using the term of enthymeme in this connection (p. 226 and n. 49). However, the term tamthīl (“example” or “analogy”) in this context corresponds to the “example” of Aristotle, which is used together with the term enthymeme (replacing “induction” together with syllogism). Aristotle, The “Art” of Rhetoric, I. ii. 8. On the Greek-Arabic terminology, cf. Renate Würsch, Avicennas Bearbeitungen der aristotelischen Rhetorik: ein beitrag zum Fortleben antiken Bildungsgutes in der islamischen Welt, Islamkundliche Untersuchungen Bd. 146 (Berlin: Klaus Schwartzverlag, 1991), pp. 72, 75. – Schoeler reflects that the primary constituents of poetry, “Nachahmung und Vorstellingsinvokation,” correspond in rhetoric to the constituent of the rhetoric syllogism, the enthymeme (referring to Avicenna). Gregor Schoeler, Grundprobleme der autochtonen und der aristotelischen arabischen Literaturtheorie. Hāzim al-Qarṭağanni’s Kapitel über die Zielsetzungen der Dichtung und die Vorgeschichte der in ihm dargelegten Gedanken (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1975), p. 82, lines 8–18. = AKM. 41.4 (from ZDMG 126 (1976), *178). 72 Incidentally, Tesauro equals the poetic syllogism with the enthymeme: metaphora simplice; (including complex propositions and allegory); and argumenti metaphorici (including the poetic syllogism or the enthymeme fallacy and further on the concetti). Emanuele Tesauro, Il Cannocchiale Aristotelico, ed. August Buck (Berlin, Zürich: Verlag Gehlen. Bad Homburg v. d. H., 1968), (Faksimile-Neudruck der Ausgabe von Turin 1670), pp. 280f.; 481f.; 487f. As expressed by Hersant: According to the three levels treated by the scholastic, the metaphor is understood as simple (consisting of one or two words) by “apprehension”; as “une proposition allégoriques” (consisting of two or more propositions) by “le jugement”; and on the highest level as enthymemes and concetti on “l’etage le plus élevé.” Yves Hersant, La Métaphore baroque d’Aristote

Figurative Speech According to al-Qazwīnī

225

Concluding Discussion The results of this study show strong resemblance between the antique tradition represented by Quintilian and the late Arabic tradition represented by al-Qazwīnī, going back mainly to al-Jurjānī, or between the eloqutio and the bayān diciplines of figurative speech. Perhaps the precise correspondence between the Latin term eloqutio for style, or ornamentation, i.e., figurative speech, and the (late) Arabic term of bayān should be mentioned here too. The implications may be interesting, since the Greek term is phrasis, or sometimes lexis or hermenia, terms with somewhat different connotations. Firstly, there are verbatim correspondences between the definitions of single terms of tropes and figures, viz. trope, metaphor, simile, synecdoche. Secondly, there are the resemblances between the praise of the metaphor, the differentiation of proper and tropical use respectively, and between the principal types of metaphors: one type based on comparison and hyperbole, and the other type (the necessary metaphor, according to Quintilian; the substrate free “hand of the north wind” type according to al-Jurjānī), differentiations which are maintained (and partly changed) by al-Qazwīnī. Thirdly, the Arabic scholars develop a contamination of terms and definitions concerning the complex of fantastic and substrate free metaphors in connection with the (logical-philosophical) terms of poetic syllogism, enthymeme and syllogism fallacy, which reflects a slow development over centuries related to the mixing of logical discourse and poetic semantics. Al-Qazwīnī and his close predecessors seem to occupy prominent positions in this line of development. How are these resemblances to be explained? Several studies point to a development over time in Arabic poetics. Thus the internal Arabic development of single terms should be brought into this discussion. Majāz for trope and istiʿāra for metaphor are certainly of Arabic origin. Several works by Wolfhart Heinrich show that the meaning of the Arabic term majāz (trope) from “idiomatic usage” to “figurative usage” originated from the efforts of early theologians to make sense of apparent anthropomorphisms in the Quran, but that it was eventually established according to the definition found in al- Jurjānī and later al-Qazwīnī.73 On the development of the term for metaphor, istiʿāra, Sergej Bonebakker has given an elaborate description of the somewhat obscure and various meanings attributed

à Tesauro (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 2001), p. 19. The implications of this should be treated elsewhere. 73 Especially his article on the shifting definition of majāz in Wolfhart Heinrichs, “On the Genesis of the Haqīqa-Majāz Distinction,” Studia Islamica, Vol. 59 (1984), pp. 111–140.

226

Kerstin Eksell

to this term.74 And Heinrichs in his The Hand of the North Wind has given an interesting and insightful exposition of the development of the term from the “substrate free” metaphor (my term) to the double definition of either “substrate free” or based on similarity. In the same work he discusses why metaphor from al-Jurjānī and onwards became defined according to this double concept (based on simile, tashbīh, or on analogy, tamthīl).75 In another work Heinrichs observes that the term takhyīl, image-evocation, underwent a change of meaning in Arabic eleventh century poetics, somehow apart from the one earlier discussed by the Arabic philosophers.76 This conceptual change may be seen in relation to the concept of catachresis mentioned above in this study. We may conclude: a) Although originally internally Arabic, Arabic theory of figurative speech over time became standardised according to rules that strongly resemble those laid down in the Hellenistic tradition (and probably decisively formed during the tenth century and into the eleventh), b) The antique influence was probably not restricted to the Poetics by Aristotle, but also included additional material inherited from different authors and texts from Hellenistic into Byzantine time (some of which may have been transmitted orally), as may be deduced from the similarities pointed out here between Quintilian and late Arabic poetics, as well as from the earlier known connection between antique and Arabic traditions of logic and rhetoric. This view of the intellectual development is consistent with information showing that the Greek heritage had become properly appropriated by the Arabs towards the end of the tenth century.77 74 See especially Bonebakker in his article on the metaphor, istiʿāra, in EI. 75 Heinrichs, The Hand of the North Wind, p. 14. The particular text passage from alJurjānī quoted here is not used at all in this work by Heinrichs, nor is there any reference to it or indication that the writings of al-Jurjāni would be crucial in tracing the development of metaphor. Heinrichs refers only to a later passage by al-Sakkākī (pp. 1–2), corresponding to the text by al-Sakkākī used in this study: Abu Yaʿqūb Yūsuf ibn Abī Bakr Muḥammad ibn ʿAlī al-Sakkākī, Kitāb miftāḥ al-ʿulūm (Cairo: Maṭbaʿat al-taqaddum al-ʿilmiyya bi-Miṣra, 1348/1929), p. 163. 76 Wolfhart Heinrichs, “Die antike Verknüpfung von phantasia und Dichtung bei der Arabern,” ZDMG, Vol. 128 (1978), p. 254 “zum einer taucht der Terminus takhyīl vom 11. Jahrhundert an im Begriffsinventar der einheimischen Literaturtheoretiker auf in Bedeutungen, die zwar vom “logischen” Sprachgebrauch deutlich verschieden sind, aber dennoch von einigen Forschern darauf zurückgefūhrt werden (dies muss einer gesonderten Undersuchung vorbehalten bleiben…).” 77 Dimitri Gutas, Greek Thought, Arabic Culture: The Graeco-Arabic Translation Movement in Baghdad and Early ʻAbbāsid Society (2nd–4th/8th–10th Centuries) (New York:

Figurative Speech According to al-Qazwīnī

227

Summary and Conclusion – Al-Qazwīnī follows his forerunners al-Jurjānī and al-Sakkākī closely but occasionally, he simplifies and rationalises. Further studies, especially of the system of al-Jurjānī, are called for. – The theory of imagery thus distilled and presented by al-Qazwīnī is clear and systematic, differing from the early centuries of Arabic tropical theory. The terminology is precisely defined. The main categories of simile and trope are distinctly defined in a rigorously structured system. – The typology for the main categories of figurative speech (simile and trope) is compatible to the ordering found both in the antique (Quintilian) and in modern theory (Goatly, Burke). The basic definitions of the trope, metaphor, synecdoche, and metonymy are identical. The varying degree of contiguity in simile, trope, and metonymy resembles modern views, which are in turn developed from antique tradition (Eco). – The combination of the philosophical-logic and the rhetorical-poetic systems discernible already in the writings of Aristotle and later developed in the antique tradition is evident in the system of al-Qazwīnī, most clearly demonstrated by his tripartite classification of the metaphor on the level of logical discourse, and also by his definition of the takhyīlī metaphor analogously to the definition of the poetic syllogism (alternatively the enthymeme). – Arabic poetics in general, including the use of colourful examples all drawn from the rich material of Arabic poetry, is certainly an internal Arabic development. So is the early development of the theory of figurative speech, as well as its connection to Islamic hermeneutic studies of the Quran and its logical-philosophical implications of the true versus false paradigm, although those studies in important aspects were influenced by the Greek logical-rhetorical tradition. However, somewhat in contrast to what has been maintained concerning the internal Arabic character of the early development of Arabic figurative speech, the system presented by al-Qazwīnī is closely connected to the one developed in the antique, starting from Aristotle but not restricted to him, and considerably extended by scholars of the late antique. – The findings seem to confirm the assumption made by others (e.g., by Alami in 2015) of an increasing influence from Greek philosophy in Islamic culture,

Routledge 1998). Mohammed Hamdouni Alami: The Origins of Visual Culture in the Islamic World. Aesthetics, Art and Arcitechture in Early Islam (London/New York: I. B. Tauris, 2015).

228

Kerstin Eksell

taking place after the gradual immersion of Greek sources through translations into Arabic, probably in the tenth century. The similarities stand out clearly when presented in a global context. Other literatures have developed other traditions, demonstrating a variety of choices. The findings of this study should inspire to further efforts of tracing the historical connection of late Arabic tropical theory to the antique tradition.

Bibliography Abdul-Raof, Hussein. Arabic Rhetoric. A Pragmatic Analysis. New York: Routledge 2006. Abu Deeb, Kamal. Al-Jurjānī’s Theory of Poetic Imaginary. Warminster, Wiltshire: Aris & Phillips LTD, 1979. Alami, Mohammed Hamdouni. The Origins of Visual Culture in the Islamic World. Aesthetics, Art and Architecture in Early Islam. London/New York: I. B. Tauris, 2015. Aristotle. Aristotle’s Art of Poetry. A Greek View of Poetry and Drama. With an Introduction and Explanations by W. Hamilton Fyfe. Oxford: Oxford Clarendon Press, 1940. Aristotle. The “Art” of Rhetoric. With an English Translation by John Henry Freese. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge MA, London, England: Harvard University Press, 1926. ʿAyyād, Shukrī Muḥammad. Kitāb Arisṭūṭālīs fī l-shiʿr. Naql Abī Bishr Mattā bn Yūnis al-Qunnāʾī mina l-suryānī ilā l-ʿarabī. Al-Qāhira, 1967/1382. Bauer, Thomas. “Arabische Kultur.” In: Historisches Wörterbuch der Rhetorik, ed. Gert Veding. Tübingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 2007, pp. 117–137. Black, Deborah L. Logic and Aristotle’s Rhetoric and Poetics in Medieval Arabic Philosophy. Leiden: Brill, 1990. Bonebakker, Seeger A. “ʾIstiʿāra.” In: Encyclopedia of Islam. Leiden: Brill, 1960. Bonebakker, Seeger A. “al-Qazwini.” In: Encyclopedia of Islam. Leiden: Brill, 1960. Bonebakker, Seeger A. The Kitāb Naqd al-Shiʿr of Qudāma b. al-Jaʿfar. Leiden: Brill, 1956. Chrzanowska-Kluczewska, Elzbieta. “Catachresis – A Metaphor or a Figure in Its Own Right?” In: Beyond Cognitive Metaphor: Perspectives on Literary Metaphor, ed. Monika Fludernik. Routledge Studies in Rhetoric and Stylistics, Vol. 3. New York: Routledge, 2011, pp. 36–57. Eco, Umberto. Semiotics and the Philosophy of Language. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1984.

Figurative Speech According to al-Qazwīnī

229

Goatly, Andrew. The Language of Metaphors. London, New York: Routledge, 1997. Gelder, Geert Jan van. “A Good Cause: Fantastic Aetiology (Ḥusn al-taʿlīl) in Arabic Poetics.” In: Takhyīl: The Imaginary in Classical Arabic Poetics. Part I. Texts. Selected, translated and annotated by Geert Jan van Gelder and Marlé Hammond. With an Introduction by Wolfhart Heinrichs and a Preface by Anne Sheppard. Part 2: Studies, ed. Geert Jan van Gelder and Marlé Hammond. Cambridge: Gibb Memorial Trust, 2009, pp. 221–237. Gelder, Geert Jan van. “Al-Khaṭīb al-Qazwīnī.” In: Takhyīl: The Imaginary in Classical Arabic Poetics. Part I. Texts. Selected, translated and annotated by Geert Jan van Gelder and Marlé Hammond. With an Introduction by Wolfhart Heinrichs and a Preface by Anne Sheppard. Part 2: Studies, ed. Geert Jan van Gelder and Marlé Hammond. Cambridge: Gibb Memorial Trust, 2008, pp. 114–119. Gelder, Geert Jan van. “ʿAbd al-Qāhir al-Jurjānī.” In: Takhyīl: The Imaginary in Classical Arabic Poetics. Part I. Texts. Selected, translated and annotated by Geert Jan van Gelder and Marlé Hammond. With an Introduction by Wolfhart Heinrichs and a Preface by Anne Sheppard. Part 2: Studies, ed. Geert Jan van Gelder and Marlé Hammond. Cambridge: Gibb Memorial Trust, 2008, pp. 29–69. Gutas, Dimitri. Greek Thought, Arabic Culture: The Graeco-Arabic Translation Movement in Baghdad and Early ʻAbbāsid Society (2nd–4th/8th–10th Centuries). New York: Routledge, 1998. Heinrichs, Wolfhart. The Hand of the Northwind. Opinions of Metaphor and the Early Meaning of istiʿāra in Arabic Poetics. Abhandlungen für die Kunde des Morgenlandes XLIV, 2. Wiesbaden: Kommisssionsverlag Franz Steiner GMBH, 1977. Heinrichs, Wolfhart. “The Theory of Literary Efficiency.” In: Arabic Poetry: Theory and Development: Third Giorgio Levi della Vida Biennial Conference, University of California, May 14–16, 1971, ed. Grünebaum. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1973, pp. 19–69. Heinrichs, Wolfhart. “On the Genesis of the Haqīqa-Majāz Distinction.” Studia Islamica, Vol. 59, 1984, pp. 111–140. Heinrichs, Wolfhart. “Die antike Verknüpfung von phantasia und Dichtung bei der Arabern.” ZDMG, Vol. 128, 1978, pp. 252–298. Heinrichs, Wolfhart. “Takhyīl: Make-Believe and Image Creation in Arabic Literary Theory.” In: Takhyīl: The Imaginary in Classical Arabic Poetics. Part I. Texts. Selected, translated and annotated by Geert Jan van Gelder and Marlé Hammond. With an Introduction by Wolfhart Heinrichs and a Preface by Anne Sheppard. Part 2: Studies, ed. Geert van Gelder and Marlé Hammond. Cambridge: Gibb Memorial Trust, 2008, pp. 1–14.

230

Kerstin Eksell

Hersant, Yves. La Métaphore baroque: d’Aristote à Tesauro. Extraits du Cannocchiale aristotelico et autres texts. Présentés, traduits de l’italien et commentés par Yves Hersant. Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 2001. Jenssen, Herbjørn. The Subtleties and Secrets of the Arabic Language: Preliminary Investigations into Al-Qazwini’s Talkhis-al-miftah. Bergen Studies on the Middle East & Africa. Cambridge: C Hurst & Co Publishers Ltd, 2000. al-Jurjānī, ʿAbd al-Qāhir ibn ʿAbd al-Raḥmān. Asrār al-balāgha. Ed. Hellmut Ritter. Istānbūl: Edebiyat Fakültesi, 1954. al-Jurjānī, ʿAbd al-Qahir. Die Geheimnisse der Wortkunst (Asrār al-balāġa) des ʿAbdalqāhir al-Curcānī. Aus dem arabischen übersetzt von Hellmut Ritter. Bibliotheca Islamica Band 19. Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag GMBH, 1959. Mehren, A. F. Die Rhetorik der Araber. Nach den wichtigsten Quellen dargestellt und mit angefügten Textauszügen nebst einem literatur-geschichtlichen Anhange versehen. (Unter der Autorität der deutschen morgenländischen Gesellschaft gedruckt.) Kopenhagen: Verlag Otto Schwartz/Wien: Aus der kaiserl. Hof- und Staatsdruckerei, 1853. al-Musawi, Muhsin J. “Arabic Rhetoric.” In: Oxford Encyclopedia of Rhetoric, ed. Thomas O. Sloane. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001, online version 2006, pp. 29–33. Quintilian: Institutio oratoria. Trans. H. E. Butler. London/New York: William Heinemann And G. P. Putnam’s Sons, Loeb Classical Library 1922. www. penelope.uchicago.edu/…/quintilian/institutio_oratoria. Roller, Matthew B. “Classical Rhetoric,” in: Oxford Encyclopedia of Rhetoric, ed. Thomas O. Sloane. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001, online version 2006), pp. 92–119. al-Sakkākī, Abu Yaʿqūb Yūsuf ibn Abī Bakr Muḥammad ibn ʿAlī. Kitāb miftāḥ al-ʿulūm. Cairo: Maṭbaʿat al-taqaddum al-ʿilmiyya bi-Miṣra, 1348/1929. Schoeler, Gregor. The Oral and the Written in Early Islam. Trans. Uwe Vagelpohl. Edited and introduced by James E. Montgomery. London: Routledge, 2006. Schoeler, Gregor. “The ‘Poetic Syllogism’ Revisited.” Oriens, Vol. 41, No. 01–02, 2013, pp. 1–26. Schoeler, Gregor. Grundprobleme der autochtonen und der aristotelischen arabischen Literaturtheorie. Hāzim al-Qarṭağanni’s Kapitel über die Zielsetzungen der Dichtung und die Vorgeschichte der in ihm dargelegten Gedanken. Wiesbaden:Harrassowitz, 1975. AKM. 41.4. Simon, Udi Gerald. Mitteralterliche arabische Sprachbetrachtung zwischen Grammatik und Rhetorik. ʿilm al-maʿānī bei as-Sakkākī. Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag, 1993.

Figurative Speech According to al-Qazwīnī

231

Smyth, William. “Some Quick Rules ut pictura poesis: The Rules for Simile in Miftāḥ al-ʿulūm.” Oriens, Vol. 33, 1992, pp. 215–229. Smyth, William. “The Canonical Formulation of ʿIlm al-balāghah and al-Sakkākī’s Miftāḥ al-ʿulūm.” Der Islam, Vol. 72, 1995, pp. 7–24. Tarán, Leonardo and Dimitri Gutas. Aristotle: Poetics. Editio Maior of the Greek Text with Historical Introductions and Philological Commentaries. Leiden: Brill, 2012. Tesauro, Emanuelo. Il cannocchiale aristotelico. Herusgegeben und eingeleitet von August Buck. Facsimile of Turin 1670. Berlin, Zürich: Verlag Gehlen. Bad Homburg v. d. H., 1968. Vagelpohl, Uwe. Aristotle’s Rhetorik in the East. The Syriac and Arabic Translation and Commentary Tradition. Leiden: Brill, 2008. Vagelpohl, Uwe. “The Rhetoric and Poetics in the Islamic World.” In: Aristotle and the Arabic Tradition, ed. Ahmed Alwishah and Josh M. Hayes. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015, pp. 76–91. Würsch, Renate. Avicennas Bearbeitungen der aristotelischen Rhetorik: ein Beitrag zum Fortleben antiken Bildungsgutes in der islamischen Welt. Islamkundliche Untersuchungen Bd. 146. Berlin: Klaus Schwartz Verlag, 1991.

Kerstin Eksell

Light and Colour in Arabo–Andalusian Poetry Abstract: An analysis of metaphors and similes in selected poems mainly of the eleventh century is linked to a discussion on the significance of light in aesthetic constructs, such as the aesthetic theory of the optician Ibn al-Haytham, and Neo-Platonic thoughts. The investigation tries to reconcile divergent views of this poetry as being either artificial and fixed, or individual and subjective.

Introduction It has been argued that Arabo–Andalusian poetry, as well as classical Arabic poetry in general, is characterised by artificiality, and that its function is mainly decorative. Against this view, this study aims at discussing the semiotic level of significance of the poetry.1 The study focuses imagery based on light and colour in Andalusian garden poetry. This parameter has been chosen because concepts of light and colour are usually important in nature poetry. Furthermore, light plays a central role in the ideological systems of our history, from the antique, into the Middle Ages, and later. The study consists mainly of two parts. The first part is devoted to a formal detail analysis of the imagery in a few selected poems and poetical passages from the Andalusian corpus from late tenth century to the beginning of the twelfth century, with emphasis on the poetry of Ibn Khafāja. The second part of the study is an attempt to relate the significance of light to aesthetic constructs of relevance for the period. Firstly, the aesthetic theory of Ibn al-Haytham is discussed.2 In the absence of Arabic literary theory connecting poetics to theology, the theory of Ibn al-Haytham may provide the missing



For valuable comments on this article, I am grateful to Professor Gregor Schoeler. (For remaining mistakes, I am of course solely responsible.) 1 Michael Riffaterre, Semiotics of Poetry (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1978). 2 Ibn al-Haytham, The Optics of Ibn al-Haytham. Books I–III. On Direct Vision. Translated with Introduction and Commentary by A. I. Sabra (Harvard University). I. Translation. II. Introduction, Commentary, Glossaries, Concordance, Indices, ed. A. I. Sabra (London: The Warburg Institute, University of London – Studies of the Warburg Institute, ed. J. B. Trapp, Vol. 40, i, 1989).

234

Kerstin Eksell

link. Secondly, Neo-Platonic thinking in the Arabo–Islamic world is compared to European aesthetic theory in the European Middle Ages (as defined by Eco).3

Method of Poetical Analysis The analysis registers tropes which contain some element of the concept of light in a wide sense and focuses the semantic relations between tenor, vehicle and ground in each of these tropes. The tropes thus registered are ordered into isotopes of light and colour. The registration of tropes is based on conventional definitions, mainly Goatly 1997.4 Earlier pilot studies on the structure of Andalusian poems have shown a high degree of cohesion on different levels within the poem,5 but much remains to be investigated in this field.

Background: Nature Poetry from East to West Descriptions of nature occur in Arabic poetry from pre-Islamic time (ca. 500–650) and onwards.6 During the classical or medieval time of urbanisation, it grew in 3 Umberto Eco and Michele De Girolama, History of Beauty, ed. Umberto Eco, trans. Alistair McEwen (New York; Rizzoli International Publications, 2005). 4 Comments on the choice of methodological tools: Terms such as trope and metaphor are used according to the definitions in Andrew Goatly, The Language of Metaphors (London, New York: Routledge, 1997). However, for the first and the second term of the image, I have chosen the terms tenor and vehicle for both metaphors and similes, simply because other terms often used here (e.g., subject, analogue, referent) may have to be used with other meanings as well. The terms correspond to the primum and secundum comparationis respectively with regard to similes. – Similes are usually provided with a particle of comparison or otherwise apparent by way of syntactic construction. 5 Such as Raymond P. Scheindlin, Form and Structure in the Poetry of Al-Muʿtamid Ibn ʿAbbād. Publication of the De Goeje Fond (Leiden: Brill, 1974), and especially the comprehensive study by Magda Al-Nowaihi, The Poetry of Ibn Khafājah. A Literary Analysis (Leiden: Brill, 1993). 6 Both eastern and western nature poetry has been the object of several studies during the last decades. For a comprehensive presentation of eastern nature poetry, see Gregor Schoeler, Arabische Naturdichtung (Beirut: Franz Steiner Verlag In Kommission, 1974). Andalusian poetry in general, including nature poetry, has been studied, for example, by Henry Pérès, La poésie andalouse en arabe classique au Xie siècle. Ses aspects généraux, ses principaux themes, et sa valeur documentaire (Paris: Adrien-Maisonneuve, 1953), and by Iḥsān ʿAbbās: Tārīkh al-adab al-andalusī (Beirut: Dār al-thaqāfa, 1962). A comprehensive presentation of the eastern connection with al-Andalus is given in Jean-Christophe Bürgel, “Man, Nature and Cosmos,” Journal of Arabic Literature, Vol. 14 (1983), pp. 31–45.

Light and Colour in Arabo–Andalusian Poetry

235

importance and was developed in various ways, especially as garden poetry. The main area of cultural development in general was the eastern part of the Islamo– Arabic space, but the west, especially the Andalus region, attained a high cultural level, especially from the tenth century. In al-Andalus, garden poetry became a particularly favoured genre. This poetry rose in continuance of the eastern poetry, and there is an organic connection between those two geographical zones. Andalusian poetry, as well as Arabic poetry in general, abounds in the use of intertextual threads, always preserving the heritage of pre-Islamic poetry as well as playing with allusions and loans from more contemporary periods. Still, it has been argued by several scholars that poetry in al-Andalus is distinguished from that of the east. This may be seen as a diachronic development within the Andalus taking place during the eleventh century. Using the poet Ibn Khafāja as the final point on this line of development, ʿAbbās explains that Ibn Khafāja embodies the Andalusian development as it had already started before his time.7 Other scholars stress the close relation between eastern and Andalusian poetry.8 In this study only Andalusian poetical material has been used. When directly relevant for the purpose of the study, connections between east and west through time and space will of course be dealt with. The reader who wants a comprehensive orientation of the position of Andalusian poetry, with regard to eastern Arabic poetry as well as to its Iberian surrounding, from the Middle Ages to the Spanish baroque, should consult the inclusive study by Gregor Schoeler: “Ibn al-Kattānī’s Kitāb al-Tashbihāt und das Problem des ‘Hispanismus’.”9 The study also contains

7 ʿAbbās, Tārīkh, pp. 204–215, in: al-Nowaihi, Poetry of Ibn Khafāja, p. 6. Both Jaroslav Stetkevych, The Zephyrs of Najd (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1991), and recently Brigitte Foulon, La poésie andalouse du XI siècle. Voir et décrire le paysage. Ètude de receuil d’Ibn Hafāğa (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2011) – with much material – share this view. 8 According to Wilhelm Hoenerbach, Dichterische Vergleiche der Andalus-Araber (Bonn: Selbstverlag des Orientalischen Seminars der Universität Bonn, 1973), eastern tradition is totally dominant in al-Andalus as well; there is no practical difference to be found in the material by the Andalusian literary expert al-Kattānī, whose study on Andalusian poetry Hoenerbach has published. This material, however, has a terminus ante quem of 1040. Also Jayyusi points out that the tradition of descriptive poetry in the east was continued in al-Andalus, see Salma Khadra Jayyusi, “Nature Poetry in al-Andalus and the Rise of Ibn Khafāja,” in: The Legacy of Muslim Spain, ed. Salma Khadra Jayyusi (Leiden: Brill, 1992), pp. 19–69. 9 Gregor Schoeler, “Ibn al-Kattānī’s Kitāb al-Tashbihāt und das Problem des ‘Hispanismus’,” Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft, Vol. 129 (1979), pp. 43–97.

236

Kerstin Eksell

analyses which highlight independent developments of the imagery in the Andalusian poetry of the eleventh and twelfth century.

Polarised Main Trends in Eleventh-century Andalusian Nature Poetry In her study of the nature poetry in Arabic and Persian poetry, Scott Meisami warns against tendencies towards reduction when analysing this genre. Nature may be used with several functions in poetry, and this is the case also in Arabic and Iranian poetry.10 Brigitte Foulon structures the garden poetry in Andalusia as filtered through different strata: 1) inherited stereotypes from pre-Islamic poetry; 2) the garden/landscape idealised as an image of paradise; 3) contemporary life in Andalusian society.11 With this in mind, I will nevertheless focus certain perspectives while disregarding others, starting by emphasising two main trends in Andalusian nature poetry. The emerging point for the further discussion may be an inherent contradiction to be found in the canonical work by Henri Pérès, brought forward by Gregor Schoeler: On one hand, Pérès notes that Andalusian nature poetry is characterised by some artificiality, or in the words of Hoenerbach, it is “monotonous, static, all arabesque and decoration.” On the other hand, Pérès notes “the importance of the element of humanisation […] The personification not only of objects, but also of ‘forces naturelles’ such as love and death, spring and youth, joy and pain, is in fact the most specific quality of later Andalusian poetry,” according to Pérès.12 Several scholars hold similar views on the artificiality or fixity of this poetry, its “arabesque” character. The trait is commonly described as typical of eastern classical poetry as well. Thus, Emilio García Gómez, comparing the poetry with Islamic art and referring to Louis Massignon says: “En cuanto a lo presente, la tendencia es a irrealizar los objetos, petrificarlos.”13 Abu Deeb expresses the same thought: “This is not a representational art […] Its power lies […] in itself, its forms and construction […] In it we witness a perfect unity of medium and artistic experience […].”14 Jayyusi sees descriptive nature poetry as an organic historical

10 Julie Scott Meisami, Structure and Meaning in Medieval Arabic and Persian Poetry: Oriental Pearls (London: Routledge, Curson, 2003), pp. 366. 11 Foulon, Étude de receuil, pp. 16f. 12 Pérès, La poésie andalouse, pp. 476, 43f., after Hoenerbach, Dichterische Vergleiche, pp. 4–7; Schoeler, Arabische Naturdichtung, p. 81. 13 Emilio García Gómez, Poemas arábigoandaluces (Madrid: Espasa-Calpe, 1970), p. 56. 14 Kamal Abu Deeb, Al-Jurjānī’s Theory of Poetic Imagery (Warminster: Aris Phillips, 1979), p. 316.

Light and Colour in Arabo–Andalusian Poetry

237

development originating in the east, with well-known representatives such as Ibn al-Muʿtazz (ca. 900), and with al-Sanawbarī as its last eastern link. She argues that at a certain point of development, the ruling modes dry up, and something new must appear. This takes place in the east when descriptive poetry develops, poetry for its own aesthetic purpose, a mode which is continued in the west.15 Recently, the unreal character of eleventh-century Andalusian poetry has been emphasised by Brigitte Foulon: “enfin, propose beaucoup plus une modèle de paysage déréalisé que des descriptions proprement parlé.”16 The other trend underlined by Pérès, the personalisation of nature and the individuation of man, has been equally well recognised, although somewhat differently viewed by the scholars. Jayyusi points to Ibn Khafāja, the last link in the development, to be the one definitely breaking with the old descriptive poetry, showing instead a high degree of subjectivity and individualism, including the humanisation of nature (cf. above). Others have stressed the other component of this trend, the personification of nature. In his article dense with acute observations and richly exemplified, JeanChristophe Bürgel shows how humanisation (of nature) and the interaction of (human) micro-cosmos with (nature’s) macro-cosmos are primary elements in the poetry by Ibn Khafāja: “endorsing [nature] objects with human characteristics; human traits are projected into nature […].”17 Werner Schmidt talks of “Vermenschlischung” and “belebte Natur,” although the conclusions seem somewhat different from those of the above-mentioned as typical of (later) Andalusian nature poetry.18

Models of Explanation a) Changes in society: Pérès inter al. points to the changes in society in Andalusia. The development breeds individuation in society, a kind of modernity, which is reflected in the literature. Pérès deals with societal factors such as court life and the biographical background of the poets (they were often of a humble origin). Other potential factors of influence may have been the general prosperity of Andalusian society, with consequences such as a high level of education among the 15 Jayyusi, Nature Poetry, pp. 373–374. 16 Foulon Étude de receuil, p. 412. 17 Bürgel, “Man, Nature and Cosmos,” p. 42. In the same article (p. 45), he points out that there are many examples of humanisation in Persian poetry which might be further examined. 18 Werner Schmidt, Die Natur in der Dichtung der Andalus-Araber – Versuch einer Strukturanalyse arabischer Dichtung, Diss. Phil. (Kiel: Christian Albrechts-Universität, 1971). After Bürgel, “Man, Nature and Cosmos,” p. 43.

238

Kerstin Eksell

lower classes, and a distribution of cultural interest in connection with this. This may all have served as a basis for developing a sense for the individual which may have become reflected in poetry.19 b) Mythopoesis and archetypical symbols: Already Stetkevych,20 discussing nostalgia in Arabic poetry, observed that the nostalgic dreaming of the garden may be viewed as an example of Bachelard’s basic paradigm of the poles cavern/ home/security versus wilderness/foreignness/insecurity as main archetypes for the poetic imagination, and demonstrating the argument with examples mainly from Andalusian poetry.21 The continuance of poetical archetypes functioning as basic symbols for poetry is dealt with more elaborately by Foulon, who also refers to Bachelard. The Andalusian garden is the safe home, the uncultivated landscape is the threat of wilderness. This structuring fits well with the mythopoesis of pre-Islamic poetry, the relation to which is so well anchored in Andalusian poetry. Also the fixity of the garden poetry is explained from this perspective: the garden becomes detached from the real world. Foulon speaks of a “luminosité quasi surnaturelle” and a “rédondance” of constitutive elements. It is a vision that nullifies temporality, thus acting as a refuge from the threats of the real world. (On mythopoesis as a principal parameter for Arabic nature poetry, see Meisami.)22 Foulon mentions other symbols such as the tree as shelter, abris, in the micro-cosmos: the garden or landscape becomes the shelter against the anguish as expressed in the poetry of Ibn Khafāja. According to Foulon, this anguish may be the reaction again the catastrophe sentiments of Andalusia during the eleventh century, an atmosphere of pending disaster, which surfaced with the civil war and continuing local frictions from the beginning of the eleventh century, and was further nurtured by the slow but steady advance of the Spanish reconquista across Andalusian territory, as well as the Berber invasions of the late eleventh and twelfth centuries.23 c) Neo-Platonic view of man and cosmos: Bürgel suggests that the fixity of Andalusian garden poetry (and implicitly eastern poetry as well) may be interpreted as a reflex of Neo-Platonic thinking. The inter-projection of macro- and 19 For culture and society, see further Dominique Urvoy: Pensers d’al-Andalus. La Vie intellectuelle à Cordoue et Séville au temps des Empires berbères (fin XIe siècle-début XIIIe siècle) (Paris: CNRS, 1990). 20 Stetkevych, Zephyrs of Najd, p. 180. 21 Gaston Bachelard, La poétique de l’éspace (Paris: Les Presses universitaires de France, 1961). 22 Meisami, Structure and Meaning, pp. 356–357. 23 Foulon, Étude du recueil, p. 414.

Light and Colour in Arabo–Andalusian Poetry

239

micro-cosmos, the theory that there are mirror relations between the ‘small world’ of man and the ‘big world’ of the celestial spheres, was widespread in the Islamic world. The treatises of the Pure Brethren of Basra (Ikhwā al-ṣafā) have long passages on it. These theories, however complicated in detail, are based on a simple leading idea: the goal of cosmic harmony to be attained by fitting oneself into the existing correspondences. Bürgel asks whether Ibn Khafāja’s poetry does not reflect this theory, being “inspired by a belief in the hierarchy of being and the harmony of the cosmos.”24 Independently of Bürgel, James Monroe analyses the Nūn-poem by Ibn Zaydūn, middle eleventh century, Andalusia, as influenced by Neo-Platonic thinking. Phrases which are usually interpreted as expressions of personal sentiments are shown to be obtained from Neo-Platonic terminology, in a general Neo-Platonic context of concord between the Self and Cosmos.25 Both Bürgel and Monroe couple the personification and humanisation of nature to the idea of correspondences and the harmony of cosmos. It is precisely the new human element in the poetry that suggests Neo-Platonic influence. Connected with this issue is the one about the resemblance between Arabic fantastic imagery as it developed during Abbasid time in Iraq, and that of the European mannerism of the late renaissance and baroque. European mannerism reflects a theological system: the poetry is meant to discover and reveal hidden truths about God’s world by way of an imagery, in which objects from the real world are coupled with farfetched images (concetti), establishing a hitherto unknown similarity (correspondence). Mustafa M. Badawi has listed many examples of fantastic images from Abbasid time, including many of humanisation (or personification) of nature. He suggests that there is in fact a governing theory behind this poetry, of a kind similar to that of European mannerism, and he suggests influence from muʿtazilite circles.26 Against this view, Wolfhart Heinrichs argues that no such connection between the imagery and any philosophy or theology has been documented at all, in contrast to European mannerism. Fantastic imagery, he says, does occur in Arabic

24 Bürgel, “Man, nature and Cosmos,” p. 45. 25 James Monroe: “Hispano-Arabic Poetry during the Caliphate of Cordoba: Theory and Practice,” in: Arabic Theory. Theory and development, ed. G. E. von Grünebaum (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1973), pp. 125–154. 26 Mustafa M. Badawi: “From Primary to Secondary Qasidas,” Journal of Arabic Literature, Vol. 12 (1980), pp. 1–31.

240

Kerstin Eksell

poetry (eastern and western) but it is a natural internal development, a phase of renewal typical of the history of poetry in many epochs and places.27

Analyses of Imagery Early Similes Recorded by Ibn al-Kattānī In the beginning of the eleventh century, Andalusian poetry was already well established and documented. A solid material of its imagery was recorded by Ibn al-Kattānī from Cordoba in the eleventh century in his book “Similes from Poems by the people of al-Andalus.”28 This is a catalogue of hundreds of similes used by the Andalusian poets up to the time of the collector. The book is arranged lexically according to main themes or topics of content, e.g., the sky, war, spring, paper. After each topic, numbered examples of similes with the tenor relating to the topic are listed. The catalogue is quite extensive. It soon becomes apparent that nature is an established theme of this poetry. The work has been edited in German translation with a valuable commentary by Wilhelm Hoenerbach. Hoenerbach points out, with detailed examples, that practically all motifs and images have originated in the poetry of the east, and that the Andalusian examples are close to or identical variants of eastern imagery.29 Since al-Kattānī died in 1040, this is a terminus ante quem for the examples quoted by him. The view adopted in this study is that a new Andalusian style (with sensibility and simplicity) did develop, with the reservation that it must have been a development from the eleventh century and onwards.30 27 Wolfhart Heinrichs, “Literary Theory: The Problem of its Efficiency,” in: Arabic Theory. Theory and Development, ed. G.E. von Grünebaum (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1973), pp. 19–69. His views are shared by, e.g., al-Nowaihi, The Poetry of Ibn Khafāja, pp. 61–63. More recently, Meisami, Structure and Meaning, pp. 467, n. 19, has referred to this idea of correspondences, only to be strongly opposed by Geert Jan van Gelder, “A Good Cause: Fantastic Aetiology (Ḥusn al-taʿlīl) in Arabic Poetics,” in: Takhyīl. The Imaginary in Classical Arabic Poetry, ed. Geert J. van Gelder and Merle Hammond (Oxford, Exeter: Gibb Memorial Trust, 2008) p. 222. 28 Ibn al-Kattānī: Al-Tashbīhāt min ashʿār ahl al-Andalus, ed. Iḥsān ʿAbbās (Beirut: Dār al-Thaqāfa,1966). 29 Wilhelm Hoenerbach: Dichterische Vergleiche der Andalus-Araber. I und II. Bonner Orientalistische Studien. Neue Serie. Hrg. Otto Speis Bd. 26 (Bonn: Selbstverlag des Orientalischen Seminars der Universität Bonn, 1973). On the influence of the east and the independence of Andalusian literature, cf. above, Introduction. 30 Cf. above, Introduction.

Light and Colour in Arabo–Andalusian Poetry

241

From a diachronic point of view, it is interesting that already before the turn of the century, Andalusian poetry exhibits a stock of conventionalised motifs and operational similes, which will reappear over and over again in the following period. The semantic meta-categories are the same, too. The arrangement and composition of the motifs and images will change, however, into a new poetic whole. It is also obvious that light and colour are important elements in early Andalusian poetry. Here are some selected examples, condensed into two-term similes, from this inventory of poetic quotations: The night sky with stars is described with comparisons such as: The stars as gold dressed in lapis lazuli blue; the Twins wear swords, plated of gold, the belt of which is the Milky way. The sky is a wide sea covered by dark waves with pearls of foam; the stars are fair faces (tear-wetted) by raining; a cloth of emerald with dinars laid out for exchange; the highest stars are like troops in ambush waiting for prey; the Pleiades are standing in the way, whispering slanderers, throwing suspicious glances. The Pleiades are like an earring on an emerald carpet; as if the sky were a green veil, inlaid with gold threads.31 The garden with flowers: Flowers are like pearls round the neck; like the eyes of bashful virgins. The meadow is proud in the clothing of its vegetation; a virgin bride in a veil accompanied by the bridegroom. The garden possesses a fresh beauty in a splendid dress with an embroidered belt; it twinkles with the eyes of narcissus and camellias; it invites to wine drinking. The garden is beautiful as a fragrant lover longing for touching the beloved; the clouds raise a tent above us; the rolling mist we use as a mantle. The garden has dressed in jewels of flowers and a green dress; the flowers of the meadows are like stars; the wine glances like the sun; we swallowed the glance of stars as if we were in heaven.32 Architecture may be compared with similar objects from the spheres of nature, jewels or textiles: Pillars are emerald green with pearl white patches; or mixed with red; tamarisk coal in colour, burning; or like multi-coloured silk. Arcades on pillars are like half-moons of moon substance; capitals are like cut out of rubies; like lotus; they are high palms with wide branches, heavy with their burden; as if a goldsmith had cast bunches of dates of pure gold; born as pearls, changed into emeralds.33 The poets give much attention to objects or phenomena of nature which have a potential or realised luminosity, and they use similes in which the main point of

31 Hoenerbach, Dichterische Vergleiche, pp. 12, 13, 9. 32 Hoenerbach, Dichterische Vergleiche, pp. 12, 13, 11. 33 Hoenerbach, Dichterische Vergleiche, pp. 62, 65.

242

Kerstin Eksell

similarity is light and colour, the vehicles acting as catalysts of the luminosity of the tenors. Jewels are the most frequent single semantic category of the vehicles. Objects of gold and silver are also favoured. Textiles of mixed colours or embroidered constitute another common category. A second important feature is the humanisation of nature objects. The tenors are obtained from the real world of nature and in the vehicles they are compared to human beings, or to a context in which human beings appear as actors: the stars wear swords and stand as whispering slanders; the garden is like a lover or a shy virgin; the nature object is like a human being dressed in textiles, adorned with jewellery. The humanisation contributes to giving the poems a dynamic of movement, which is a third paradigmatic characteristic. In the syntagmas of the vehicles, the subjects are often in a state of imminent or recently completed change: a simple predicative copula is not enough, but the subject matters brought to our attention blink, get dressed, are laid out, sent around, etc., which creates an atmosphere of liveliness. The use of similes, the only kind of imagery documented here, also allows complex similes to be represented. With an introducing particle of comparison (usually ka-), similes consisting of several parts, such as compounds and whole phrases, may easily be constructed. With regard to the semantic distance between tenor and vehicle, the images may often be considered as concetti. There is a great semantic distance between stars in the sky and jewels, or between a meadow with flower and a dress, but such comparisons are within the conventions of poetry. However, when the particularisation of the simile is driven to extremes, such as is typically the case in the scenes with humanised elements acting on objects or moving in a totally unrealistic way, bringing forward highly unexpected relations between tenor and vehicle, the most suitable term is concetti, or in Arabic maʿānī al-sanʿa.34 Examples are “troops in ambush waiting for prey” or the complex simile describing the meadow as a shy bride in veils. This kind of poetic device, typical of muḥdāth poetry from classical Abbasid time, admired by some, abhorred by others, is obviously inherited into Andalusia from the east, along with the whole stock of motifs. (For introductory comments on the comparison with western mannerist poetry, see above, Introduction.)

34 Wolfhart Heinrichs, Arabische Dichtung und Griechische Poetik. Hāzim al-Qartāǧannis Grundlegung der Poetik mit Hilfe Aristotelischer Begriffe (Beirut: Franz Steiner Verlag In Emilo Kommission, 1969), p. 91.

Light and Colour in Arabo–Andalusian Poetry

243

The similes demonstrate the artificial character of this poetry. The poetic microcosmos is “de-realised,” to use the term of García Gómez and Foulon.35 The concepts used are concrete and perceptual, whether belonging to the human, the cosmological, or some other sphere. They are not abstract and certainly not difficult to grasp. Yet, the mere juxtaposition of inanimate objects to each other or to a fantastic humanised substance creates the impression of an unreal world, detached from the ordinary one. Furthermore, there are diffuse borders between the tenor and the vehicle in the sense that the relation is often reciprocal: the flower is like a star – the star is like a flower; the near and the intimate is like the distant and large or vice versa, the man-made or animate is like the inanimate and vice versa. Borders in space are dissolved. The impression is enhanced by the absence of sentiments or experiences on part of the poet. There are no individual expressions in these images, no melting of the emotions of the lyrical I with the phenomena of nature. Although there are connections to the human world of passion and happiness, such indications are made without display of individual emotion. The main sense of perception played on is the sight; the poetical micro-cosmos is a strongly visual one.

Case Studies of Single Poems 1. Ibn ʿAbd Rabbihi: Garden in Spring Wa-rawḍatin ʿaqqadat aydī ar-rabīʿi bi-hā / nawran bi-nawrin wa-tazwījan bitazwījī (Verse 1.) This poem is a miniature description of a garden scene.36 It may serve as a preliminary, an early example of a whole poem. 1. Oh garden in which the hands of Spring has arranged collars of flowers, one by one and two by two, 2. Impregnated by (showers of passing) nightly clouds, and brought forward by morning clouds, 3. Wrapped up in a veil of (glistening) mirage, not sewn (by hands); in a cloak of light not woven. 4. Its flowers dressed in embroidered robes, and covered its ground with brocade (carpets) laid out.37

35 Cf. above, Introduction. 36 By Aḥmad ibn Muḥammad Abū ʿUmar Ibn ʿAbd Rabbihi 860–940, Cordoba. Court poet. The poem is a jīm poem in the basīṭ metre. Arabic text in Alois Richard Nykl, Mukhtarāt min al-shiʿr al-andalusī (Beirut: Dār al-ʿilm lil-malāyīn, 1949), pp. 23–24. 37 For a more poetic translation and a short biography, see A. R. Nykl: Hispano-Arabic Poetry and its Relations with the Old Provencal Troubadours (Baltimore, 1946), p. 35.

244

Kerstin Eksell

The first verse presents the subject matter of the poem, a garden in Spring. It is full of flowers. Nature is conventionally humanised: Spring has hands, and the flowers are arranged as if they were collars. Colour is obviously a dominant characteristic of this garden. In the second verse, the attention is directed towards the air and the sky. There are showers of evening clouds, paralleled by showers of (cooling) morning clouds. Here, the dominant property is light and water: clouds as showers, the transparent humidity of the air. The third and the fourth verses elaborate the image of the garden as a woman. The garden is dressed in a veil; in a cloak; covered by robes, and the ground is covered by brocade carpets. The female character is coupled by metaphors underlining the properties of light, as in the cloak of light, and of colour, as blossoms appearing as embroidery on robes. To conclude, conventional images of the garden as a woman, comparing the vegetation to the concrete concepts of jewels and textiles from the human sphere, are arranged in a strict paradigm of light and colour running through the poem from beginning to end. The humanisation is impersonal, and no lyrical I merges with the scene. The micro-cosmos of the poem is an artificial one.38 2.  Ibn Zaydūn: Garden and I (love, sorrow, pleasure) Innī dhakartu-ki bi-z-Zahrāʾi mushtākan / wa-l-ufqu ṭalqun wa-wajhu l-arḍi qad rāqā (Verse 1.) In this well-known poem the garden theme is used to express human emotions: the lyrical I experiences love, sorrow and longing, and motifs from the garden melt with the painful and nostalgic feelings.39 The poem has a semi-narrative frame, with the scene set in presence and the lyrical I nostalgically looking back on happy days now gone. The first verse 38 Jewels and precious stones are not used simply because of their luminosity or mercantile value. They are considered especially valuable because of their indestructible material. An exposition of the use of jewels in Arabic poetical garden language is given in Geert Jan van Gelder, “Precious Stones, Precious Words. Al-Suyūṭī’s al-maqāma alyaqūtiyya. Translated and annotated by Geert van Gelder,” in: O ye gentlemen. Arabic Studies on Science and Literary Culture. In Honour of Remke Kruk, ed. Arnoud Vrolijk and Jan P. Hogendijk (Leiden: Brill, 2007), pp. 313–332. 39 By Abu l-Walīd Aḥmad ibn ʿAbd Allāh Ibn Zaidūn (394–463/1003–1071), born in Cordoba. Politician and poet. – A qaf-poem in the basīṭ metre. – The al-Zahrāʾ poems are treated by Stetkevych as an example of nostalgia. Stetkevych, The Zephyrs of Najd, pp. 180–201.

Light and Colour in Arabo–Andalusian Poetry

245

presents the setting and the theme: the poet remembers his beloved from their meeting in the garden of az-Zahrāʾ, a summer palace outside Cordoba. The garden is viewed in the early morning, with dew shining on the earth, and the poet is filled with emotions of nostalgic longing:40 1. I remembered you in az-Zahrāʾ, while longing for you: the horizon was bright and the face of the earth had become shining (with dew).

Then follows a long sequence in which the poet interchanges as a subject with subjects from nature: first the breeze, then the flowers. The poet is in sorrow. He complains of longing, sleeplessness, pain, and shedding tears. The phenomena of the garden respond by showing similar feelings. The breeze feels pity, the eyes of the flowers shed tears. 2. The breeze possessed a mildness in its evening times, as if it felt pity for me and feigned weakness. 3. The garden, disclosing its silvery water, was smiling, as if you had loosened the collars above your breasts. 4. A day like the days of pleasure that we had has passed: we spent the nights of those, while destiny slept, like thieves, 5. Enjoying whatever flower that caught the eye. The dew streamed over them until they bent their necks, 6. As if their eyes, seeing my sleeplessness, wept for the state I was in, so that the tears streamed, glistening.

Finally, the garden resumes its detached state, in which the flowers, the fragrance and the light of dawn interact with each other without any interference of the poet: 7. Roses glitter in their sunlit beds and midday increased brilliance to the eye because of them. 8. White water lilies passed, embracing them with fragrance, slumberers, whose pupils dawn had opened.

As is usually the case, the first half verse of each verse carries the main message. The second half verse continues the first one, either by specifying it, or by adding another message with a similar content. Here, the subject of each first half verse, and often that of the second half verse as well, is either the poet or the natural object, which is personified and animated with the help of a verbal metaphor: The flowery gardens smile, the eyes of the flowers see and weep, dawn opens the eyelids of the water lilies. Intransitive verbs of motion may also be used and contribute to 40 Arabic text from Alois Richard Nykl, Mukhtarāt, pp. 71–72; see also A. J. Arberry: Arabic Poetry: A Primer for Students (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965), pp. 114–117 (Arabic text with an English translation).

246

Kerstin Eksell

the animated character: the stems of the flowers are drooping, roses glitter, water lilies send out currents of fragrance. There is only one simile of the conventional type: the dewy garden is like a collar loosened from the breasts of a woman. Other similes of this kind comparing tenors to vehicles of human manufacture, typically jewels and colourful textiles, are conspicuously missing in this poem. The arrangement of images, the repetitions and variations of only a few subjects as tenors, most of which are personified with the help of verbal metaphors, creates a strong paradigmatic effect in the poem. This effect is further strengthened by the meta-image of water, which is dominantly reoccurring in the poem: the dew on the ground, together with the rain drops in the air, are juxtaposed and interacting with the tears of the crying poet. The perspective offered is a shining, wet micro-cosmos, with the air glittering of raindrops and the garden immersed in dew, while the poet is bathing in tears. The emotions of the poet fuse with those of humanised nature. The overall paradigm of light and colour is evident. Water, the recurrent metaimage of the poem, both as tenor and as vehicle, is a transparent transmitter of light. It shines, glitters and glistens, thereby enhancing the light effects, and since water appears both in the air and on the ground, the whole space of the poem is filled by light. The colours of the flowers contribute to the effect. The scene is strongly visual, but it also presents the fusion of the lyrical I with nature. On the level of significance, this fusion may be close to signifying the mystical reunion of man with cosmos. Monroe has pointed out the traces of Neoplatonism in the famous Nūn-poem of Ibn Zaidūn, as mentioned above. It should be investigated whether this poem is also influenced by Neo-Platonic ideas in its fusion of man and cosmos together with its pervading atmosphere of light, presented with a simplistic unity with regard to syntax and imagery. 3.  Ibn Khafāja: Garden Landscape Wa-kimāmatin ḥaḍara ṣ-ṣabāḥu qināʿahā / ʿan ṣafḥatin tandā mina-l-azhārī (Verse 1.) In this poem, the subject matter is the landscape rather than the cultivated garden. We are offered a view by the lyrical I, the spectator regarding the landscape from a distance, not participating in the space or activities of the landscape itself.41 41 By Abū Isḥāq Ibrāhīm ibn Abi l-Fatḥ Ibn Khafāja (450–533/1058–1138). Born in Alcira in the vicinity of Valencia. Lived a private life there on his estate. He became known as “the Gardener” in Arabic tradition for his development of garden poetry. It is a rā-poem

Light and Colour in Arabo–Andalusian Poetry

247

1. [I remember when the world appeared] from its chalice: The morning let its veil fall from a chin bedewed by flowers. 2. In a valley the mouths of the camomiles had sucked the milk from the abundantly sprouting teats of all the clouds. 3. Over the secluded meadows, the hand of the east wind had strewn the pearls of the dew and the silver coins of blossoms. 4. The bare branch had dressed [in its costume] and [likewise] formed the jewels of waterdrops a necklace round the rivulets. 5. I halted there where the water was a laughing, merry chin, and where the river bank was growing fluff. 6. The wind in the early morning agitated (shook) the curls of the hills and the rain shower (alt. dew) sprinkled the faces of the trees. 7. Dividing my glances between [all] beauties from the rump of a hill and the waist of a valley. 8. /I remember also/ an arāka: a dove cooed amidst its branches and the dawn disclosed the forehead of the day. 9. The tree shook its sides for it (i.e., the dawn), possibly sacrificing to it a mantle of white flowers.

The poem is densely structured with several patterns interwoven.42 The first thing you notice about the subject matter and semantic register of the poem, is that all the syntactic subjects are phenomena of nature, except for a couple of inserted reflections in the 1st person. They form an isotopic linking comprising: Cosmological concepts: period of day, weather, and water: [day] – dawn – morning – the eastwind – wind/breeze – water – dew – water drop – rain shower; Vegetative concepts: camomiles – tree – tree branch – (river bank) – arāka; Animals: dove. in the kāmil metre. Arabic text from Ibn Khafāja, Dīwān, ed. Sayyid Muṣṭafa Ghāzī (Alexandria, 1960), p. 336. Transcription in Foulon, Étude de Receuil, pp. 359–360, note 910. My translation. – Translation into French by Pérès, La Poésie andalouse, p. 164. A detailed “syntagmatic” analysis is offered by Foulon, Étude du recueil, pp. 359ff. 42 The translation necessarily shows some change of syntactic position, since Arabic is a VSO language as opposed to, e.g., English, which is a SVO language. In the original, the word order does not automatically start with the nominal subject as here in the translation, but often with the verb followed by the subject. Although this has some prosodic effects, it does not cause any confusion in this analysis. Note, however, that in line 4, the first half verse ends with the verb in the original, irregularly for the construction in this poem, followed by its subject as the first term of the second half-verse, which I have rendered by a somewhat clumsy insertion of [likewise] to motivate the original word order.

248

Kerstin Eksell

The concepts occurring as heads in complement phrases are similarly cosmological: day – rivulet – hill – valley; or vegetative: blossoms – flowers. Terms for period of day, weather and water reoccur throughout the poem and endow it with a dominant atmosphere of transparent and humid air which reflects the light, as do the dew on the ground and the white camomiles. Dawn and morning imply that the light is breaking through. Rain showers, dew and water, in addition to reflecting light, furthermore infer positive qualities such as fertility of vegetation. The air and water terms are quite general. The vegetative terms are mostly generic too: blossoms or flowers, which strongly implies colour. There is only one specific term, camomiles, which, however, is an ordinary image in the poetry; it is a white flower, thus connoting whiteness and the glittering resulting from a multitude of small, white flowers on the ground. The dove cooing in the arāka tree differs from the other entities used, since it contains an animal as well as a particular tree. However, both entities are stereotypes in the poetical register, emblems of archaic peace and well-being (the arāka tree) as well as of human love (the cooing dove). A second isotopic linking is provided by the verbs functioning as verbal predicates of the subjects. These denote a strong notion of movement throughout the poem, making the phenomena of nature appear as active and even acting. Most of those verbs are verbs of motion, as such not unexpected: the wind usually blows, the leaves and branches of the tree do rustle, water may appear as streaming rain or running rivulets. However, several verbs have a much stronger effect, being transitive verbs acting on objectival complements: the morning lets its veil fall from its chin; the camomiles suck the teats of clouds; the east wind strews the dew; the branch dresses itself; the wind agitates the curls of the hill etc. In addition to indicating movement and action, these syntactic and semantic isotopes serve as verbal metaphors of the subjects. They humanise the phenomena of nature. The humanisation is very consistently carried out in every verse of the poem. It is strengthened by occasional humanising metaphors splitting up the subjects into genitival constructs in which the head is a body part, e.g.: the mouths of the camomiles; the hand of the east wind. In the complements similar differentiations occur (see below). The subjects with their verbal predicates fill out the first half verses of the verses. A third isotopic linking consists of the complements of the verbs. In accordance with Arabic syntactic rules, they are placed after both verb and subject, and thus come to occupy most of the space of the second half verse of each verse:

Light and Colour in Arabo–Andalusian Poetry

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

249

a chin bedewed by flowers. the abundantly sprouting teats of all the clouds. the pearls of the dew and the silver coins of blossoms. the jewels of water drops round the rivulets. was a merry chin, and where the river bank was growing fluff. the curls of the hills ; the faces of the trees. the rump of a hill and the waist of a valley. and the dawn disclosed the forehead of the day. sacrificing to it a mantle of white flowers.

These complements are usually composites consisting of two to four terms. The most frequent element in the complement is a genitival construct: there are genitival constructs in seven out of nine verses, and in three of them (nos. 2, 6, 7) there are two such constructs. Instead of a genitive, the volume of the complement may be filled out by a verbal attribute to one of the genitival terms (no. 1), or by a verbal term (no. 8, 9), or nominal sentences (no. 5). In addition to the formal syntactic isotopes of composite complement and genitival constructions, there is a third pattern in this linking, perhaps the most important one: The complements serve to build images corresponding to, and continuing, the humanisation and verbal metaphors of the corresponding first half verses. The images consisting of genitival constructs are usually of the type identifying metaphors, while a few consist of attributal metaphors.43 More rarely, phrases or terms of the complements build metaphors of nominal sentences (e.g., no. 5) or with the help of a verbal metaphor (e.g., nos. 1, 8, 9). On the semantic level, those images all help to underline the connection between man and nature. The tenor is a nature phenomenon or object, while the vehicle is drawn from the human sphere. Several vehicles of identifying metaphors denote textiles or artificially fabricated products: mantle – pearls – silver coins – jewels. Humanised terms from attributive metaphors consist of body parts: teats – curls – rump – waist. Meteorological phenomena such as day and dew, as well as the recurrent concept of flowers (expressed in different synonyms), occur both as subjects and as parts of compliments. A few images serve to emphasise similarity between properties of nature and the human (female) body: the clouds give nutrition like humans and animals 43 Arie Schippers, “The Genitive Metaphor in the Poetry of Abu-Tammām,” in: Proceedings of the Ninth Congress of the Union Europeenne des Arabisants et Islamisants, Amsterdam 1978, ed. Rudolph Peters (Leiden: Brill, 1981), pp. 248–260.

250

Kerstin Eksell

give milk; hills and valleys possess softness and roundness. However, the main ground for most metaphors is light and colour. Textiles and artificial objects emphasise properties in the subjects, the phenomena of nature. And the recurrent appearance of day and dawn, dew and flowers strengthen the impression of an atmosphere of transparent space filled with light and colour. To summarise, the poem is complex in structure, with several patterns of isotopes interwoven and interlaced, interplaying syntactically on sentence and phrase levels, as well as semantically. On the prosodic level, it may be noted that each verse is built up according to a mixed scheme of partition: there is a bipartite structure consisting of half verse + half verse; a tripartite structure consisting of subject + verb forming the first half verse + complement forming the second half verse. Since the verbs ending the first half verses carry the action/activity with their complements following in the second half verse, there is a combination of two prosodic patterns, the syntactical and the metrical ones. It may be added that in concordance with the demands for the length of the verse, the second half verse are filled out with more than one image of two terms (either with two images or with one composite image), which adds weight and complexity. The poem demonstrates a mixture of a) light and colour, b) dynamic movement, and c) complex syntactical and prosodic patterning. There is correspondence between formal and semantic patterning. Finally, there is a high degree of stylisation as well as use of a conventional stock of semantic inventory. It would probably be wrong to call it “mannerist” since the likenesses with regard to light and colour are obvious and also conventional, easy to grasp for any reader, not causing much tension or suspense. There is some particularisation from tenor to vehicle, a specifying tendency towards details, from nature to human made things, i.e., a considerable span between reference in reality and image, but again, not very much elaborated. 4.  Ibn Khafāja: The Tree Wa-arākatin ḍarabat samāʾan fawqanā / wa-aflāku l-kuʾūsi tudārū (Verse 1.)44 Henri Pérès has pointed out that Ibn Khafāja was fond of the tree as a poetical motif and wrote several poems describing trees of different kinds.45 In a wider perspective trees may easily be used as symbols of life, and particularly of human life. For Andalusian poetry both Stetkevych and Foulon have pointed out 44 A rā-poem in the kāmil metre. Arabic text from Ibn Khafāja, Dīwān, p. 351. My translation. 45 Pérès, La Poésie andalouse, pp. 165–166, 188.

Light and Colour in Arabo–Andalusian Poetry

251

the relevance of Bachillard’s tree symbol as the archetypical image for home and safety.46 It should be mentioned that the tree described here, the arāka, is a tree known from the Arabian Peninsula, where it was venerated in pre-Islamic time, but which does not grow in Andalusia. The poet often uses tree names of this kind, thereby lending a universal and symbolic character to the subject of the poem.47 In this poem the first four lines describe the tree in its beauty. During the last four lines the scene is widened to include the garden. The attention wanders to the crown of the tree, down to the trunk of the tree surrounded by streams of water and the shining wineglasses, and then out into the garden, viewed in husky evening light, the ground covered by flowers, and the approaching darkness. The perspective is narrow with the tree in focus. There is no overt lyrical I, neither as a spectator nor as an emotional person, nor are there any emotions registered. However, the lyrical I and his boon companions do appear as indirect enjoyers of the pleasant garden in the evening, with a reference to “us,” and the circulating and shining glasses of wine, important as such in the visual picture, also serve as metonymies for a wine drinking party. 1. Often, an arāka throws a celestial dome above us moistened by dew, while the planets of the wineglasses circle. 2. Its mighty trunk is surrounded by the Milky Way of a brook over which the flowers spread their stars; 3. As if the tree with its brook of water was a beautiful [woman], a belt tied around her waist. 4. The glass led the wine like a bride in her procession, being adorned, while the flowers of the branches were spread. 5. In a garden where the wing of dusk was a shadow for it, and where the flowers were condensed into light; 6. A luxurious [garden] where the merchant spread out his embroidered cloths for me, and the perfumer diffused his musk. 7. The song [of the birds] arose, while the dew had moistened the face of the soil, and the flowers had awakened. 8. The water with its glittering like jewels was like a neck in shame above which the trees had buttoned their collars.

The syntactic patterning is simpler than in the previous poem. It follows the bipartite division of the verse into half verses, and each half verse tends to form a 46 Stetkevych, The Zephyrs of Najd, p. 180; Foulon, Étude du recueil, p. 101, cf. also pp. 414–415 on the (shadowing) tree as a miniature image of the universe. 47 For a detailed and valuable description of trees in Andalusian poetry, including the symbolic pre-Islamic ones (shadowing, as opposed to fruit trees), see Foulon, Étude du recueil, pp. 65–103, especially pp. 90–94 on the arāka.

252

Kerstin Eksell

whole sentence with subject and either a verb or a nominal predicate. The images are distributed among both the first and the second half verse. The syntactic subjects of the poem are once again phenomena of nature: the arāka tree – brook – flowers – branches – evening husk – garden – shadow garden – fragrance of flowers – song of birds – water of stream. The arāka tree is the main object in focus, where the garden appears as the background. The wineglasses appear as the only proper subject from the human sphere. Those isotopes are few in number, some of them reoccurring in the poem. Most of them denote phenomena of air and water; the most transparent and humid elements transmitting light. The subjects are usually connected to medial verbs or nominal predicates expressing intransitive movements or states, e.g.: the glasses circle – the flowers are condensed – the water resembles – the tree is like – the wing of the dusk being – the song of the birds arose – the flowers awakened. Transitive verbs are used but they do not have a strong humanising effect: the arāka tree throws a dome – the flowers spread their stars, i.e., their light. The effect caused by the isotopes of main predicates is to convey the calm of the evening: the atmosphere is one of tranquillity and peacefulness, with slow and silent movements and faint noises. The semantic patterning is quite strict. There are two isotopic links of vehicles interchanging: Firstly, there is a strong link of vehicles taken from the cosmological sphere. These dominate in the first two verses: celestial dome – stars circling in their spheres – the Milky Way – stars. In verse 5, they occur as expressions of darkness and light in contrast: the wing of dusk is the shadow of the garden as opposed to flowers as light. The other isotopic link of vehicles brings in the human element: the tree is like a beauty, the brook like a belt around it – the wine glass is an adorned bride in a wedding procession – the flowers in the garden are the embroidered cloths of a merchant; the fragrance is the musk offered by the perfume merchant – the ground is the face of the earth. And finally, the poems ends with a composite image, where the rivulets of water around the bases of the trees are compared with the shy neck adorned by jewels, which the tree foliage covers, as a human being buttoning his collar. As in all garden poems, textiles and jewels occur, as well as the dynamics of humanisation, but here the man made material occupies only a small part of the poem, and the human element is introduced in independently developed scenic images of human beings (the bride and bridegroom, the merchants) illustrating the tree and the colours and scent of flowers.

Light and Colour in Arabo–Andalusian Poetry

253

The recurrent ground for all images is light and colour, as in the poems described above: the inherent properties of light and colour in the tenors are enhanced by the vehicles. However, the homogeneity and simplicity of the semantic and syntactic structure serve to give an emphasis on light as opposed to darkness. There is humanisation, but the main effect is rather to emphasise the husky twilight, in which the images of human beings appear and move about as small, distinct figures of light, mixing with blinking stars and glittering water. In this poem, Ibn Khafāja works with clair-obscure: the arāka tree itself is a celestial dome with shining circling planets, the transparent air and water diffuse light, and the flowers spread light as stars, jewels or ornamented textiles. The diffusion of fragrance and the song of birds indicate the space of the garden. In contrast to the luminous elements, the darkness of night covers the garden universe. In this poem darkness is reduced and subdued, turned into a benevolent shadow sheltering the garden. There is a potential menace, however: the phrasing of the poem indicating night and darkness as being normally hostile, a threat to man, only now extraordinarily turned into a benevolent power. The sense of unreality is signalled by the use of a symbolic tree, the arāka. The dissolution of the material objects of the garden into light lends a spiritual atmosphere to the poem. It is imbued with a mystical attraction away from the world of man and earth into another, unreal world. This pervading feeling is not brought about by artificial patterning and ornamentation, but by homogenising clair-obscure effects, by focusing light against a background of darkness. 5.  Ibn Khafāja: The Desert Night It is well recognised that the poetry of Ibn Khafāja also contains elements of personal sorrow and anguish. His most well-known poem is probably the so called “Mountain poem,” in which the traveller in the night, forlorn and confused, meets with the old mountain, which speaks out its long time felt sadness, loneliness and despair.48

48 The poem and its theme make up the conclusion of al-Nowaihi, The Poetry of, pp. 162– 167, and has been treated in several articles, e.g., Nadia Yaqub, “Some of Us Must Depart: An Intertextual Reading of the Mountasin Poem by Ibn Khafāja,” Journal of Arabic Literature, Vol. 30, No. 3 (1999), pp. 240–256. Further on the personal emotional lyrics of this poet, see Arie Schippers, “The Theme of Old Age in the Poetry of Ibn Khafāja,” Quaderni di Studi Arabi, Vol. 9 (1991), pp. 143–160.

254

Kerstin Eksell

In the context of this study, I would like to bring forward another example of a nightly travel in the desert: wa-mafāzatin lā najma fī-zalmāʾi-hā/ yasrī wa-lā falakun bi-hā dawwārū (Verse 1.).49 Ibn Khafāja often used themes and motifs from pre-Islamic poetry as models for his poems. In pre-Islamic poetry the nightly travel in the desert is a recurrent part of the typical ode. In that surrounding it functions rather as a ritualised struggle of man against the hardships of nature and destiny alike, a struggle in which the hero emerges victorious because of his cleverness, courage, physical strength and dexterity with horses, camels and weapons. The reuse of the old nightly travel in the desert theme by Ibn Khafāja, exemplified in several poems, includes the inherited archetypical motifs threat of death and forlornness. 1. It was a (barren, wild) desert (mafāza), in the darkness of which no star (could be seen) to follow its course, nor any sphere (falak) its rotation. 2. The flame of Sirius flickered, like a dīnār in the palm of an Ethiopian of darkness. 3. The wide wasteland and the hills touched and threw me about like agitated waves. 4. The Polar star remained fastened in its place, like a peg in a wall. 5. While the darkness enveloped me, a wolf started to circle around me, advancing upon me determined to catch me in the darkness; 6. The nightly wanderer, making incursions into settled areas, hiding to deceive the nightly travellers. 7. He disappears as the dew has moistened the face of the east wind, trembling in his fur. 8. I can distinguish nothing in a darkness which is enlightened only by the eyeball of the wolf, and by my burning courage. 9. I feel clumsy, dressed in the clothing of the night, on which the stars are attached like buttons.

The poem may appear quite conventional, following tradition as well as being decorative. However, on closer inspection several new features emerge. Firstly, the composition of the poem is typical of Ibn Khafāja, with its strongly scenic and dramatic character. It starts with a panoramic perspective of the nightly landscape including the dark sky with stars and the wide and barren desert ground. In a 49 A rā-poem in the kāmil metre. Arabic text from Ibn Khafāja, Dīwān, ed. Sayyid Muṣṭafa Ghāzī (Alexandria, 1960), p. 85. Transcription in Foulon, Étude de Receuil, p. 174, note 419. My translation.

Light and Colour in Arabo–Andalusian Poetry

255

pseudo-narrative discourse the activities of the two live creatures, the traveller and the wolf, is developed, emphasising the threatening and comprehensive movements of the wolf and the insignificance of the wanderer. Secondly, there is a reversal of perspective and dramatic personae. In a traditional pre-Islamic travel ode, the lyrical I is the hero in centre of the events. His doings are described at length and in detail, while the landscape through which he travels is a surrounding wilderness and the threats, by cosmos and animals, lined up one after the other for the hero to overcome. In the poem of Ibn Khafāja we find the lyrical I – the hero reduced to a small, helpless figure, endowed with defiant courage but ill at ease and uncomfortable – an anti-hero, in fact. The surrounding landscape is overwhelmingly close, imposing itself upon the traveller with its majestic awesomeness and darkness. It is more like a protagonist than an immobile requisite. The other enemy protagonist is the wolf, and this animal is given the attention traditionally bestowed on the hero. The wolf is described over several lines: he is the one moving across vast areas; he is fast acting, watchful, devious and terrifying – all the expected heroic qualities now absurdly assigned to the wild animal. Thirdly, the imagery is carefully chosen. The number of images is rather small, which accentuates the simplicity and the unity of the composition of the poem. Two images characterise the landscape and the advancing morning: The land throws the hero around like agitated waves; and the dew moistens the face of the east wind. Both increase the liveliness, with verbal metaphors, one comparison, and one personifying (attributal) metaphor. Both are quite conventional. More interesting are the bulk of the images, which belong to a confined semantic sphere of the animate world. They are distributed according to the disposition of the poem, starting with two comparisons underlining the distant, small shining of single stars in the dark sky: the Sirius flickers like a dīnār in the palm of an Ethiopian of darkness the Polar star remained fastened in its place, like a peg in a wall.

Then the attention turns to the two protagonists, the traveller and the wolf. None of them are described physically; only the small eye of the wolf gleaming in the darkness is equalled to the burning courage of the traveller: I can distinguish nothing in a darkness which is enlightened only by the eyeball of the wolf, and by my burning courage.

Finally, the poem ends with a paraphrase of the bewildered and uncomfortable traveller, paradoxically provided with the night as a clothing, and linking back to

256

Kerstin Eksell

the beginning: the stars are once again compared to small, glimmering objects taken from the sphere of man-made fabrics:50 I feel clumsy, dressed in the clothing of the night, on which the stars are attached like buttons.

As a visual picture, the effect is highly uniform: all vehicles denote small, flickering lights in a universe of darkness. They emphasise the vast space of darkness, as well as the appearance of light as a contrast. However, further interpretation is possible. Relating to the archetypical scheme of life vs. death, light vs. darkness, the poem does not suggest the victory of life over death, or of man over nature. There is considerable hesitation as to the final outcome of the nightly travel. There are small lights glimmering in the darkness, and the traveller summons all his courage in the struggle, but when morning approaches at the horizon, the traveller is still in the midst of nightly agony. The imagery provides another clue for the interpretation. The nightly sky is adorned with coins, pegs and buttons, like a human being. Man, in the form of this small traveller, is actually dressed in the night as if it were a clothing. Cosmos is man and man is cosmos. There is a mirroring, a correspondence.

50 Manfred Ullmann has studied pre-Islamic poems containing conversations between the traveller/poet and the wolf in Manfred Ullmann, Das Gespräch mit dem Wolf, Beiträge zur Lexikographie des Klassischen Arabisch 2. Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Philosophisch-historische Klasse. Sitzungsberichte. Jahrgang 1981, Heft. 2 (München, 1981). The old poetry demonstrates an intimate affinity between man and wolf, both being subject to the threat of the desert. The traveller often treats the hungry wolf as a guest, offering it food and drink. Ullmann compares with a poem by Ibn Khafāja, No. 143 of his Dīwān, and shows how the ancient motif here is treated quite mechanically, as is natural for an Andalusian poet in a cultivated surrounding (pp. 132–134). However, the comparison may be taken a step further. A comparison with the old poems confirms the present analysis: in this poem, not only is the wolf treated as an alien creature, belonging to the threatening environment of the desert, but Ibn Khafāja has clearly developed the old theme in a creative way, emphasising the visual light-darkness contrast, and focusing the individual in his insignificance and personal anguish.

Light and Colour in Arabo–Andalusian Poetry

257

Ideological Setting The Aesthetics of Ibn al-Haytham Ibn al-Haytham, the natural scientist and mathematician, was born and educated in Iraq and later mover to Egypt, where he died.51 The list of his works includes almost two hundred titles, of which more than sixty are known to be extant. He wrote extensively on mathematics, astronomy, natural physics and even medicine, and he is quoted as having spent part of his education studying philosophy and theology. His single most important contribution to science is probably his lifelong study of optics. He documented the main body of his views and findings on this topic in the book Kitāb al-manāẓir (The [Book of] Optics), probably written (shortly) before 1030. The Optics seems not to have become immediately known in the Arab world. It is believed to have gained fame only towards the end of the thirteenth century, when it was bestowed an extensive commentary by the Iranian scholar Kamāl al-Dīn al-Fārisi. However, the name of Ibn al-Haytham as an authority on mathematics and natural sciences was established well before that. For example, the mathematical part of the Optics was copied in Zaragoza in the second half of the eleventh century, and other articles by him were known as well.52 Optic studies in the Islamo–Arabic space were naturally undertaken in continuance of earlier Greek and Hellenistic studies on the subject. The phenomenon of light in nature, as well as sight as a physical process, had acquired much attention over the centuries. Here it must be sufficient to sum up the main content of Ibn al-Haytham’s theory of light and vision, while observing that his views were at least partly revolutionary: Light is understood as an independent property; it consists of rays which exist regardless of whether anyone actually sees them. The radiation of light may be analysed as part of physics, measured geometrically, and finally, considered as part of physiology. Light radiates from self-luminous bodies, i.e., essential or primary light (ḍawʾ dhātī). The most prominent of these bodies are the sun and fire. Primary light further illuminates all not self-luminous bodies, which it radiates upon, causing accidental light (ḍawʾ ʿaraḍī) to radiate from those bodies. Many bodies are opaque (kathīf), so that light cannot go through them. Some are transparent (shafīf), allowing the light rays to pass wholly or partly: transparent bodies consist of air, water, glass, and mineral stones. When light rays hit a

51 Ca. 965–1040. For a short biography, see Ibn al-Haytham, The Optics, Part II, pp. ix–xxv. 52 See Sabra in Ibn al-Haytham, Optics, part II, p. lxix, and note 94.

258

Kerstin Eksell

polished surface, it is reflected. When it passes through a transparent substance, it may be refracted. All light radiates in straight lines. Light, depending on the transmitting or reflected material, may take on different colours. Sight: Light rays, when meeting the eye, are treated by a sensory organ in the eye and transformed into vision that is sent on to the brain and accepted; this is how we see. Importance of empirical research: Theoretical statements should be based on practical experiments. Every statement on light is exemplified by empirical experiments undertaken by Ibn al-Haytham himself. The Optics is a large volume of three Books, each one of which consists of several chapters, all together some 350 pages in translation. In Book II, Chapter 3, there is a small treatise on the perception of beauty, ca. seven pages in translation.53 It should be read with interest, if only for the sheer reason that it is presented against the solid background of the author’s assembled views on light, vision and sight. However, it is also remarkable for being practically the only text of its kind in the whole corpus of Arabic scientific texts. Aesthetics as such was not a defined subject, and as far as we know, it did not receive any particular attention from the scholars. Thus, the few pages by Ibn al-Haytham are of the utmost interest when trying to gain an understanding of the aesthetical processes behind literary works of the time. The connection between Ibn al-Haytham’s aesthetics and the attitude of the Arabic medieval poet is not known to have existed as a direct link or communication. However, his theory is nevertheless a testimony of the cultural setting in which it originated, and there are valuable implications to be found by studying it. The theory may be shortly presented as follows: [200] Now for the beauty that is perceptible to the sense of sight: sight perceives it by perceiving each one of the particular properties54 of which the manner of perception has been shown. For each of these properties produces one of the kinds of beauty, and they produce [other] kinds of beauty in conjunction with one another […] (cont. in [201]).

53 Ibn al-Haytham, Optics, Part I, pp. 200–207. The whole volume in translation by Sabra. Commentaries by Sabra in Ibn al-Haytham, Optics, Part II, pp. 97–102. Figures within brackets refer to the numeration by Sabra. 54 Alami observes that the original has al-maʿānī al-mubṣara for “properties,” for which he suggests the translation “visual meanings.” This term has interesting implications, as Alami points out, and may be linked to the discussion on Neo-Platonism. However, I have preserved the term given by Sabra, since it does not hamper the understanding of the discourse. See Mohammed Hamdouni Alami, The Origins of Visual Culture in the Islamic World. Aesthetics, Art and Architecture in Early Islam (London, New York: I. B. Tauris, 2015), pp. 52–56 for the discussion in context.

Light and Colour in Arabo–Andalusian Poetry

259

[202] That it is these particular properties that separately produce beauty – and by ‘producing beauty’ I mean that they produce in the soul an effect such that the form appears beautiful – will be evident from a brief consideration. For light produces beauty, and thus the sun, the moon, and the stars look beautiful, without there being in them a cause on account of which their form looks beautiful and appealing other than their radiant light. Therefore, light by itself produces beauty. [203] Colour also produces beauty. For every bright colour, such as purple, purpure, vegetable-green […] rose, Saʿwī-red, and the like, appeal to the beholder and please the eye. Similarly, dyed clothes and covers and utensils, also flowers, blossoms and meadows, are felt to be beautiful. Therefore colour by itself produces beauty.55

This is followed by an enumeration of other “properties” which alone may produce beauty, i.e., make something visual appear beautiful in the mind of the perceiver. Most of these properties are such that help in organising objects in relation to each other and to space: distance; position; solidity; shape; size; separateness; continuity; number; motion; rest; similarity and dissimilarity. The rest belongs to the spectrum of light: transparency; opacity; shadow; darkness; (and to a smaller degree) roughness and smoothness. It is striking that Ibn al-Haytham quite often exemplifies his properties of potential beauty with the same motifs used for constructing imagery in the contemporary poetical micro-cosmos. The property of position is exemplified with “beautiful writing”: letters when ordered in a regular way will appear beautiful. Writing does not belong to the semantic spectre of light but text and (Arabic) scripture are conventional motifs in poetry. Shape may acquire beautiful forms in, e.g., animals and trees, but Ibn al-Haytham’s first example here is the beauty of the crescent moon. As for size, the moon and the big stars are more beautiful than the small stars. Separateness is illustrated in several ways: the separate stars appear more beautiful than the assembled star complex of the Milky Way; lamps or candles appearing spread out in space, separate from each other, may achieve a similar effect of heightened beauty, and so may blossoms and flowers dispersed in a meadow. The potential beauty of continuity is illustrated with meadows full of continuous and dense vegetation; and meadows with colours are more beautiful if those are continuous. Beauty in number could be the many stars in the sky, or many lamps and candles gathered in one place. In exemplifying beauty realised and perceived from properties within the semantic sphere of light, luminous or illuminated objects are quite naturally highlighted. Thus transparency may be perceived as beauty in precious stones and transparent utensils. Opacity is likewise of relevance, since the degree of opacity 55 Ibn al-Haytham, Optics, Part I, p. 200.

260

Kerstin Eksell

(being the reverse side of the degree of transparency) is decisive for the visibility: “colours, lights, shapes, outlines, and all beautiful-looking features that are seen in visible objects are perceptible only on account of opacity.”56 Shadows may bring out beauty in different ways, e.g., by concealing defects which would be visible in strong light, or by actually making specific colour nuances visible (rainbow colours in birds’ feathers), which require subdued light. And the opposite of light, darkness, is precisely what brings forward the beauty of luminous objects; stars, lamps and candles stand out in darkness. Roughness is exemplified by the work of a goldsmith, which gives associations to a shining surface of gold or other metals, and both roughness and smoothness are coupled with textiles and utensils, in the poetry used for effects of shining and glittering (striped or embroidered cloth; jewels; weapons). Each one of those properties may produce beauty “by itself.” Beauty may also be produced by several of these properties in combination – “in conjunction” – effects which may of course be variously composed by number and degree of components. The latter way of causing beauty is the more common one of the two. The theory of the perception of beauty defines three main causes of beauty: the existence of properties which cause beauty (which are those registered above); proportionality; and harmony [226].57 The latter two definitions are further analysed in paragraphs [227]–[231]. Ugliness is simply the absence of beauty [232]. The chapter ends with short comments on the perception of similarity and dissimilarity [233]–[234].58

The Aesthetics of Ibn al-Haytham in its Aesthetic-Philosophical Tradition Ibn al-Haytham’s exposition stands out as an original contribution of great value. It becomes hardly less interesting by being viewed in its aesthetic-philosophical context. When Ibn al-Haytham enumerates and exemplifies properties and products of beauty, he is not proposing new aesthetical values but leaning on what is in his time conventionally considered to be beautiful. All those examples of light and colour appear over and over again in the poetry before and after Ibn al-Haytham. He has collected and brought out examples of beauty, in itself a highly valuable accomplishment, but we may also be assured that his views on what is beautiful 56 Ibn al-Haytham, Optics, Part I, p. 202, [217]. 57 This reflects traditional Greek thinking, as noted by Sabra in Ibn al-Haytham, Optics, Part II, p. 99. 58 Ibn al-Haytham, Optics, Part I, pp. 204–207.

Light and Colour in Arabo–Andalusian Poetry

261

is shared by many others within the Islamo–Arabic cultural frame. The intention behind the presentation in the Optics is more specific than to enumerate examples of beauty in the world. It is to give a scientific explanation of how and why we perceive those visual phenomena as beautiful. Ibn al-Haytham connects purely physical phenomena such as the nature and behaviour of light with his findings on the process of perception of visual phenomena in the human eye and mind. There is a strong affinity between Ibn al-Haytham’s aesthetics and the aesthetic- philosophical tradition of his time. Basically, both the image of the divine as comparable to light, and the image of Paradise as realised in the earthly garden are integrated in many global religious systems, and both image complexes are well represented in the Quran. Both are discernible in the poetic aesthetics, as evidenced by the poems themselves.59 However, the ideological background of Ibn al-Haytham, as well as of that of poetics, may be more distinctly outlined. As several scholars have already pointed out, it is difficult to avoid bringing attention to Neo-Platonism such as it developed within the Arabo–Islamic space; this could be called a common horizon of ideological attitudes for the poets and as well as for Ibn al-Haytham. In his article on the nature poetry of Ibn Khafāja, Bürgel paid attention to the Pure Brethren (Ikwān al-Safā) and their Neo-Platonic ideas of cosmological correspondence. Sabra makes a similar connection when discussing the importance of proportionality (tanāsub) in the aesthetics of Ibn al-Haytham. Although the relevance of proportionality for beauty is a Greek idea, it receives a new actuality in the writings of the Brethren. They discuss the “harmonistic universe,” based on ratio and proportion, and argue the importance of geometry, not only for sciences and philosophy, but for the arts (writing and painting) as well.60 Recently, Muhammed Hamdouni Alami has developed these thoughts more in detail. Alami argues that “a systemic break” occurs in the middle of the tenth century (the writings of the Pure Brethren stem from ca. 950), spreading during the following century, and that this break was “occasioned by the assimilation of Neo-Platonic views in Islamic thinking.” The views put forward by the Brethren are precisely those of a “cosmological correspondence,” which explain the world in “a network

59 For a discussion of the heavenly paradise as one of several possible components in Arabic garden poetry, see, e. g., Meisami, Structure and Meaning, pp. 357–358. 60 Ibn al-Haytham, Optics, Part II, p. 99f. The concept of universal harmony has been well developed in Inka Nokso-Koivisto, “Summarized Beauty: The Microcosm-Macrocosm Analogy and Islamic Aesthetics,” Studia Orientalia, Vol. 111 (2011), pp. 251–269.

262

Kerstin Eksell

of connections and affinities.”61 Alami devotes his attention to the visual arts, exemplifying this new system with, e.g., Fatimid architecture. Another work to be considered is the Theology of Aristotle. Monroe refers to it as a source of Neo-Platonic thought when he discusses the Nūn-poem by Ibn Zaidūn.62 The Theology of Aristotle consists of an Arabic translation of the Enneads IV–VI, the immensely popular and widely spread Neo-Platonic work by Plotinus (third century, Alexandria). The Arabic version from the middle of the ninth century became well established. Its authority, as well as its obscure provenience, is highlighted by the title: it is in fact nothing like a theology of Aristotle, but instead the eclectic mixing of Aristotelian and above all Platonic thoughts typical of late Alexandrian learning. Some of the essential terminology used by Ibn al-Haytham does indeed indicate a Hellenistic–Neo-Platonic origin. For example, there is the term ḥusn used for beauty. This term has a double significance in Arabic. It means a) goodness (nicety, decency) and b) beauty. It is the term preferred to others such as jamāla, which would stand for beauty alone. Thus, it seems to be the chosen correspondence to the Greek term tò kalón, which possesses the same double significance of both goodness and beauty. The double significance is typical of Neo-Platonism, in which goodness and beauty are considered as one entity: what is good is beautiful, and vice versa. Sabra, who mentions the similarity of terms, points out that Ibn al-Haytham uses the word ḥusn only in the sense of /visual/ beauty.63 But that is in accordance with his own intention, to describe beauty precisely as a process of visual perception. We are anticipating a new complete edition of Plotinus Arabic to be edited by Cristina d’Ancona.64 Nevertheless, a comparison with the light symbolism and correspondence theory of Plotinus, as it has been preserved in the preserved Theology of Aristotle, will give ample evidence of the common frame of connections

61 Alami, The Origins of Visual Culture, Introduction, pp. 5ff, esp. p. 12. 62 Monroe, Hispano-Arabic Poetry, see above. 63 Ibn al-Haytham, The Optics, Part II, p. 97. 64 The Theology of Aristotle was not the only Neo-Platonic writing in Arabic. Probably, the whole Enneads were translated. So were the “sayings of the Greek sage” and other texts. For recent summaries of Neo-Platonic writings in Arabic, se Cristina d’Ancona, “Le traité de Plotin sur les trois substances qui sont des principes dans le corpus néoplatonicien arabe,” Studia graeco-arabica. Vol. 2 (2012), pp. 281–302, and for the tradition of the Theology in particular, Cristina d’Ancona, “Hellenistic Philosophy in Baghdad. Plotinus’ anti-Stoic Argumentations and their Arabic Survival,” Studia graeco-arabica, Vol. 5 (2015), esp. pp. 184ff.

Light and Colour in Arabo–Andalusian Poetry

263

between Ibn al-Haytham and Neo-Platonism, as well as being instructive for further speculation about the poetry of nature in Andalusian Arabic. For the purpose, the material below is drawn from the editio princeps of the Arabic Theology of Aristotle by Friederici.65 Eloquent examples may be found in Book IV. It deals with beauty: how it exists in the divine world, how it is rebuilt (imitated) in the real world, and how beauty appears in all types of existence. The light symbolism is easy to follow. Light and beauty belong together; one of the terms may often be substituted for the other. Light and beauty, in the sense of being shining with the utmost glance, is typical of the divine world. The highest light is God, or the First principle, or some other term for the highest order. Between the divine and the real world is a close connection or correspondence: the real world imitates and longs for the divine one (the original elementary idea of Plato’s philosophy).66 Everything on the earth strives to imagine the world of ideas and to reproduce it. A sort of theory of art is included (exemplifying the relation between the higher world and the real world): The artist is presented as someone who tries to reproduce the original concept or idea: inspired by this, he models his material towards an ideal form, like Phidias when he sculptured his statue of Jupiter.67 Beauty appears in different states of perfection, from the lower to the upper spheres, as well as in many forms: apart from light, there is beauty in human shape

65 Dieterici, Dr. Fr., Die sogenannte Theologie des Aristoteles aus dem arabischen übersetzt und mit Anmerkungen versiehen (Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs’sche Buchhandlung, 1883). 66 Dieterici, Theologie, p. 45: “Jemand […] kann […] in seinem Geiste zur Geistwelt aufsteigen. Dann sieht er die Schönheit und Glanz derselben und ist stark genug, die Erhabenheit des Geistes, sein Licht und seinen Glanz zu erkennen, auch erkennt er den Werth und die macht dessen, was über den Geist steht, das ist das Licht des Lichts, Schönheit aller Schönheit und Glanz alles Glanzes […] Wir behaupten nun: Die Sinnenwelt und der Geistwelt sind ursprünglich so gesetzt, dass die eine eng der andren anhaftet. Denn die Geistwelt ruft die Sinnenwelt zeitlich hervor. Die Geistwelt spendet den Erguss auf die Sinnenwelt, und diese ist es, die den Erguss erstrebt und die in der Geistwelt festbestehende Kraft annimmt.” 67 Dieterici, Theologie, p. 48: “Da er das Götzenbild des Jupiter machen wollte, liess er sich nicht von etwas sinnlich Wahrnehmbarem verleiten, fasste auch Nichts in’s Auge, dem er sein Wissen anbequemte, sondern er erhob sich seine Vorstellung über das sinnlich Wahrnehmbare, und bildete er den Jupiter in einer so schönen, anmuthigen Form, dass sie über der Schönheit und Anmuth aller schönen Formen erhaben war.”

264

Kerstin Eksell

and in the shape of other animated things, as well as in abstract forms, such as geometrical lines and figures.68

Light and Colour in European Medieval Aesthetics According to Umberto Eco The close relation between artistic aesthetics and theological philosophy in medieval Europe has been described by Umberto Eco in his work History of Beauty.69 In addition to being thoroughly erudite, his presentation has the advantage of including poetics and not restricting the aesthetic views to the visual arts such as painting and architecture. For this study it is indeed relevant, since the imagery dealt with here is directly connected to visual perception.

Cosmology of Light In his work Eco lines out the development of the cosmology of light and the inseparable triple connection between the concepts of God, Light and Beauty. In many cultures throughout history, God is identified with Light: we may remember the cults of the sun god in ancient and prehistoric cultures. Eco further refers to the central role of light in the thinking of Plato and his “concept of Good as the sun of ideas.”70 Already here the connection between Light and Good is made. The highest principle, or God, is also the essence of Good. For the connection of Light and Goodness with Beauty in the medieval “aesthetic of clarity” (claritas), Eco emphasises the importance of Plotinus and his writings, the Enneads. Here the ground is laid for the Neo-Platonic thinking which would so strongly influence medieval thinking in Christian Europe. In

68 Dieterici, Theologie, p. 49: “Ist dem nun also, behaupten wir: Die kunstgefertigte Form ist schön, schöner als sie aber die Naturform, welche der Stoff an sich trägt. Die Form aber, welche nicht im Stoff, sondern nur in der Kraft des Schaffers liegt, ist viel schöner und anmuthiger, denn sie ist die erste Form, die ohne Stoff ist […].” Pp. 50–51: “Wir behaupten: Wir finden die schöne Form auch an unkörperlichen Dingen: dies gilt von den Lehrformen (geometrischen), diese sind nicht körperlich, sondern es sind Figuren, die nur mit Linien begabt sind; auch gilt dies von den Formen des bildlich Dargestellten und den Formen, die in der Seele sind.” 69 Umberto Eco and Michele De Girolama, History of Beauty, ed. Umberto Eco, trans. Alistair McEwen (New York: Rizzoli International Publications, 2005). - Cf. also the early Eco: Umberto Eco, The Aesthetics of Thomas Aquinas, transl. H. Bredin (Cambridge MA: Cambridge University Press, 1988). 70 Eco, History, p. 102.

Light and Colour in Arabo–Andalusian Poetry

265

Enneads I, 6, there are relevant statements about “the simple beauty of a colour” and “the beauty of fire.”71 The definition of Beauty is distinctly made by the main theological authority of the Middle Ages, Thomas Aquinas in the thirteenth century. Firstly, he states that Beauty requires the four properties Actuality, Proportion, Integrity and Claritas (i.e., clarity and luminosity).72 Secondly, he explains that pulchra dicuntur quae visa placent, “things that give pleasure when they are perceived are called beautiful.”73 We recognise these views as parts of a continued tradition from Hellenistic thinking. Theologians and mystics devote much attention to discussing the concepts of Beauty, Light and Colour. The perception of those visual properties were made to fit into models of explanations of the cosmological order and the relations between God, man and nature. The discussions were more or less tinted with Neo-Platonic thinking, to which ideas drawn from Aristotelian physics were sometimes added. Beauty and associated concepts were explained as expressions of both divine and material properties, of spiritual as well as physical energy, of force and movement in combination with material forms and qualities. Eco mentions Robert Grosseteste of the thirteenth century as one of the main Neo-Platonic thinkers. In his “Commentary to the Hexaémeron,” he deals with the specific nature of Light as a property of Beauty: “Light is beautiful in itself […] it is above all unity and proportion unto itself in a most harmonious way by virtue of likeness; but the harmony of proportions is Beauty. Hence, even without the harmonious proportions of corporeal forms, light is beautiful and most pleasing to the eye. Thus the golden Beauty of light is beautiful for its scintillating radiance and the stars appear most beautiful to the sight […].”74

Artistic Imagery of Light and Colour For the visual arts in particular, it is of special interest for this study that Ibn alHayhtam’s the Optics became one of the most influential sources of influence from the high Middle Ages and well into the Renaissance. The Optics was translated 71 Eco, History, p. 103. See further Plotinus, The Six Enneads by Plotinus, transl. Stephen Mackenna and B. S. Page (London: Faber and Faber Limited, 1957), online www.classics. mit.edu/Plotinus/enneads.html. 72 St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, trans. Fathers of the English Dominician Provinc (Notre Dame, IN: 1981), I–II, 27.1. 73 Aquinas, Summa, I, 39.8C. For the views of Thomas Aquinas, see also Eco, History, pp. 100, 129. 74 Eco, History, pp. 126–127.

266

Kerstin Eksell

into Latin during the twelfth century and given the title De aspectibus, or Perspectiva, the name of the author rendered as Alhacen. The philosopher Roger Bacon is known for having declared that the new science of optics would solve most problems. The possibility to connect theoretical thinking with empirical optics in the real world was in line with the Gothic renaissance and acted as a powerful stimulus. The optical results obtained by Alhacen inspired among other things the Gothic architecture with its concern with windows transmitting light and colour. Later, the Italian architect Lorenzo Ghiberti copied parts of the aesthetic theory in his “Commentarii” to the Optics. Ibn al-Haytham is the obvious link between Arabic and European later medieval thinking with regard to practical optics as well as Neo-Platonic views in connection with optics. How the transfer actually took place remains to be investigated.75 It is not surprising that the Middle Ages is a period in which light and colour plays a prominent role. This applies not only to architecture but to paintings as well as to poetry. Clear, strong, light reflecting colours dominate. Frequently used objects are jewels and metals from the human sphere and blue sky, green grass and multicoloured flowers from the sphere of nature. In poetry and in paintings (especially miniature paintings), says Eco, “the art of the Middle Ages played on primary colours, on well-defined chromatic zones inimical to nuance, and on the combination of hues that engender light by overall concordance […] But in Medieval illumination the light seems to radiate out from the objects. They are luminous in themselves.”76 If the Gothic cathedrals with their architectural play of space and light and their coloured, light transmitting windows are the perfect example of Neo-Platonic and theological thinking realised by means of optical science, an abundantly rich source of poetry inspired by the same flow of thinking is to be found in Dante’s Divine Comedy from the thirteenth century. Eco provides several examples from this text. A demonstration of colour images, which could be secular as well, is given from Purgatory, VII, 70–78: Pure gold and silver, pearl white, carmosine red, indigo blue, as clear as the morning sky, green fresh emerald in the moment of its being cut – all those colours would be surpassed by the grass here and all the flowers adorning the meadow in front of us.77

75 Eco, History, p. 125, Sabra in Ibn al-Haytham, The Optics. Part II, p. 97. 76 Eco, History, p. 100. 77 Eco, History, p. 109. Secular poetry follows the same aesthetical principles, as is exemplified in Eco, History, p. 109, with some stanzas from from Petrarca, Canzoniere CXC.

Light and Colour in Arabo–Andalusian Poetry

267

The imagery of light becomes overwhelming when the traveller reaches the higher spheres, which shine and sparkle with increasing strength the closer they are to the highest sphere and the presence of God. Eco gives an example of “Dante’s light” from Paradise XXX, 97–120.78

The Principle of Analogy in Arabo–Islamic and Medieval European Thinking Already a superficial glance through the text sources of Ibn al-Haytham, “The Theology of Aristotle,” and the theological–philosophical texts of medieval Christianity show many similarities. A comparison may even seem redundant. However, it is appropriate to emphasise the very ground for the cosmology underlying both theological systems and with its philosophical origin in Neo-Platonism: the principle of analogy. Also, this principle was outlined by Eco in his study on the influence of medieval thinking on James Joyce. Eco formulates the basic directions for the medieval mind, the very ground on which mental concepts as well as aesthetic and cosmological models are necessarily built: The medieval thinker cannot conceive, explain or manage the world without inserting it into the framework of an Order, an Order whereby, quoting Edgar de Bruyne, “les êtres s’emboitent les uns dans les autres” […] The medieval thinker knows that art is the human way to reproduce, in an artefact, the universal rules of cosmic order. In this sense art reflects the artist’s impersonality rather than his personality. Art is an analogon of the world […] This framework of Order provides an unlimited chain of relations between creatures and events […] Any person or event is a cipher which refers to another part of the book […] Every word embodies every other because language is a self-reflecting world.79

The philosophical implications of this thinking need not be carried out here, but the use of light and colour in the arts must be interpreted against this cultural horizon of theological cosmology. However spontaneously the images of light and colour may have come to the mind of the poet, and have been appreciated by the consumer of the poetry, and however simple and archetypical their basic cognitive pattern may appear, those images should be regarded against the background of the complex medieval cosmology of light.

78 Eco, History, p. 129. 79 Umberto Eco, The Aesthetics of Chaosmos. The Middle Ages of James Joyce, trans. Ellen Esrock (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press 1989), p. 7.

268

Kerstin Eksell

Summary and Conclusions An emerging point for this study has been an inherent contradiction in the seminal work on Andalusian poetry by Henri Pérès, observed by Gregor Schoeler: On the one hand, Pérès notes that Andalusian nature poetry is characterised by a certain artificiality. On the other hand, he stresses “the importance of the element of humanisation.”80 The aim of the study has been to explain this apparent contradiction. The first part of the study consisted of case studies of selected poems, with the following main results: The concepts of light and colour were found to be over-all dominating constitutive elements in garden imagery (to the marginalization of other traditional images of the garden, e.g. prosperity of growth, the imitation of paradise etc.). The expressions of light and colour form highly complex patterns, interlaced in different ways, paradigmatically and syntagmatically; all existing in several layers, semantic, prosodic, and syntactic–stylistic. There seems to be a discernible development from a syntagmatically arranged stock of motifs for images towards the same stock but paradigmatically arranged and more complex, and towards an increasing personal involvement with nature for expressing individual agony and accompanying collective disaster (lost love or threat of death). The question needs further studies. The second part of the study is an attempt to relate the significance of light to aesthetic constructs of relevance for the period. It is shown that there is a high degree of concord between those three types of material: the use of light and colour in the poetry studied, the aesthetics of Ibn al-Haytham, with its emphasis on precisely light and colour, and finally, the Neo-Platonic ideas underlying much of the late antique and medieval thought both in the west and in the Arabic world. The light cosmology essential for European medieval thought pervaded art and poetry, and a similar movement may have taken place in Arabic aesthetics as well. There is no immediate connection between philosophical and scientific theory on the one hand and poetics on the other, nor is there any evidence of philosophy or science being the active cause behind the aesthetic effects in the poetry. However, those three cultural activity areas do seem to share a common ground, an intellectual heritage. The cosmological analogy includes a close linking between man/human body, and cosmos/nature, between micro- and macro-cosmos. Thus, the personification and humanisation are also in accordance with Neo-Platonic thinking. 80 Schoeler, Arabische Naturdichtung, p. 81.

Light and Colour in Arabo–Andalusian Poetry

269

The tentative outlining of this linking already suggested by Johann Christoph Bürgel should be followed up by further studies.81 By re-ordering earlier characterisations, a new composite structure emerges in which artificiality, personification of nature, and a new sensitivity or individuation, are all interrelated and interactive parts of one common aesthetics and cosmology.

Bibliography ʿAbbās, Iḥsān. Tārīkh al-adab al-andalusī. Beirut: Dār al-thaqāfa, 1969. Abu Deeb, Kamal. Al-Jurjānī’s Theory of Poetic Imagery. Warminster: Aris Phillips, 1979. Alami, Mohammed Hamdouni. The Origins of Visual Culture in the Islamic World. Aesthetics, Art and Architecture in Early Islam. London, New York: I. B. Tauris, 2015. Aquinas, St. Thomas. Summa Theologica. Trans. Fathers of the English Dominician Provinc. Notre Dame, IN: 1981. Arberry, A. J. Arabic Poetry: A Primer for Students. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1965. Badawi, Mustafa M. “From Primary to Secondary Qasidas.” Journal of Arabic Literature, Vol. 12, 1980, pp. 1–31. Bachelard, Gaston. La poétique de l’éspace. Paris: Les Presses universitaires de France, 1.ed 1957, 3ed. 1961. (pdf online). Bürgel, J. C. “Man, Nature and Cosmos as Intertwining Elements in the Poetry of Ibn Khafājah.” Journal of Arabic Literature, Vol. 14, 1983, pp. 31–45. D’Ancona, Christina. “Le traité de Plotin sur les trois substances qui sont des principes dans le corpus néoplatonicien arabe.” Studia graeco-arabica Vol. 2, 2012, pp. 281–302. D’Ancona, Christina. “Hellenistic Philosophy in Baghdad. Plotinus’ anti-Stoic Argumentations and their Arabic Survival.” Studia graeco-arabica Vol. 5, 2015, pp. 165–204. Dieterici, Dr. Fr. Die sogenannte Theologie des Aristoteles aus dem arabischen übersetzt und mit Anmerkungen versiehen. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs’sche Buchhandlung, 1883. Eco, Umberto. The Aesthetics of Chaosmos. The Middle Ages of James Joyce. Trans. Ellen Esrock. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press 1989. 81 Bürgel, “Man, Nature and Cosmos.”

270

Kerstin Eksell

Eco, Umberto. The Aesthetics of Thomas Aquinas. Trans. H. Bredin. Cambridge MA: Cambridge University Press, 1988. Eco, Umberto and De Girolama, Michele. History of Beauty. Ed. Umberto Eco. Trans. Alistair McEwen. New York: Rizzoli International Publications, 2005. Foulon, Brigitte. La poése andalouse du XIe siècle. Voir et décrire le paysage: Étude du recueil d’Ibn Ḫafāğa. Paris: L’Harmattan, 2011. García Gómez, Emilio. Poemas arábigoandaluces. Madrid: Espasa-Calpe, 5th ed. 1971. Gelder, Geert Jan van. “A Good Cause: Fantastic Aetiology (Ḥusn al-taʿlīl) in Arabic Poetics.” In: Takhyīl. The Imaginary in Classical Arabic Poetry, ed. Geert J. van Gelder and Merle Hammond. Oxford, Exeter: Gibb Memorial Trust, 2008, pp. 221–237. Gelder, Geert Jan van. “Precious Stones, Precious Words. Al-Suyūṭī’s al-maqāma al-yaqūtiyya. Translated and annotated by Geert van Gelder.” In: O ye Gentlemen. Arabic Studies on Science and Literary Culture. In Honour of Remke Kruk, ed. Arnoud Vrolijk and Jan P. Hogendijk. Leiden: Brill, 2007, pp. 313–332. Goatly, Andrew. The Language of Metaphor. London, New York: Routledge, 1997. Grunebaum, Gustave von. “The Response to Nature in Arabic Poetry,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies, Vol. 4 (1945). Heinrichs, Wolfhart. Arabische Dichtung und Griechische Poetik. Hāzim alQartāǧannis Grundlegung der Poetik mit Hilfe Aristotelischer Begriffe. Beirut: Franz Steiner Verlag In Emilo Kommission, 1969. Heinrichs, Wolfhart. “Literary Theory: The Problem of its Efficiency.” In: Arabic Theory. Theory and Development, ed. G.E. von Grünebaum. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1973, pp. 19–69. Hoenerbach, Wilhelm. Dichterische Vergleiche der Andalus-Araber. I und II. Bonn: Selbstverlag des Orientalischen Seminars der Universität Bonn, 1973. Ibn al-Haytham. The Optics of Ibn al-Haytham. Books I–III. On Direct Vision. Translated with Introduction and Commentary by A. I. Sabra, Harvard University. I. Translation. II. Introduction, Commentary, Glossaries, Concordance, Indices. Studies of the Warburg Institute, ed. J. B. Trapp, Vol. 40, No. 1. London: The Warburg Institute, University of London, 1989. Ibn al-Kattānī, Muḥammad ibn al-Ḥasan. Al-Tashbīhāt min ashʿār ahl al-Andalus, ed. Iḥsān ʿAbbās. Beirut: Dār al-Thaqāfa 1966. Ibn Khafāja. Dīwān, ed. Sayyid Mustafa Ghazi. Alexandria, 1960. Jayyusi, Salma Khadra. “Nature Poetry in al-Andalus and the Rise of Ibn Khafāja.” In: The Legacy of Muslim Spain, ed. Salma Khadra Jayyusi, Leiden: Brill, 1992, 367–397.

Light and Colour in Arabo–Andalusian Poetry

271

Meisami, Julie Scott. Structure and Meaning in Medieval Arabic and Persian Poetry: Orient Pearls. London: Routledge, Curzon, 2003. Monroe, James. “Hispano-Arabic Poetry during the Caliphate of Córdoba: Theory and Practice.” In: Arabic Theory. Theory and Development, ed. G.E. von Grunebaum. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1973, pp. 125–154. Nokso-Koivisto, Inka. “Summarized Beauty: The Microcosm-Macrocosm Analogy and Islamic Aesthetics.” Studia Orientalia, Vol. 111, 2011, pp. 251–269. Nowaihi, Magda M. al-. The Poetry of Ibn Khafājah. A Literary Analysis. Supplements to the Journal of Arabic Literature, ed. M. M. Badawi and J. N. Mattock, Vol. XVI. Leiden: Brill, 1993. Nykl, Alois Richard. Hispano-Arabic Poetry and Its Relations with the Old Provencal Troubadours. Baltimore, 1946. Nykl, Alois Richard, Mukhtarāt min al-shiʿr al-andalusī. Beirut: Dār al-ʿilm lilmalāyīn, 1949. Pérès, Henri. La poésie andalouse en arabe classique au Xie siècle. Ses aspects généraux, ses principaux themes, et sa valeur documentaire. Paris: Adrien-Maisonneuve, 1953. Plotinus. The Six Enneads by Plotinus. Trans. Stephen Mackenna and B. S. Page. London: Faber and Faber Limited, 1957. www.classiz.mit.edu/www. classics. mit.edu/Plotinus/edu.html. Riffaterre, Michael: Semiotics of Poetry. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1978. Scheindlin, Raymond P. Form and Structure in the Poetry of al-Muʿtamid Ibn ʿAbbād. Leiden: Brill, 1974. Schippers, Arie. “The Genitive Metaphor in the Poetry of Abu-Tammām.” In: Proceedings of the Ninth Congress of the Union Européenne des Arabisants et Islamisants. Amsterdam 1978, ed. Rudolph Peters. Leiden: Brill, 1981, pp. 248–260. Schippers, Arie. “The Theme of Old Age in the Poetry of Ibn Khafāja.” Quaderni di Studi Arabi, Vol. 9 (1991), pp. 143–160. Schmidt, Werner. Die Natur in der Dichtung der Andalus-Araber – Versuch einer Strukturanalyse arabischer Dichtung. Diss. phil. Kiel: Christian AlbrechtsUniversität, 1971. Schoeler, Gregor. Arabische Naturdichtung. Beirut: Franz Steiner Verlag In Kommission, 1974. Schoeler, Gregor. “Ibn al-Kattānī’s Kitāb al-Tashbihāt und das Problem des ‘Hispanismus’.” Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft, Vol. 129, 1979, pp. 43–97.

272

Kerstin Eksell

Stetkevych, Jaroslav: The Zephyrs of Najd. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991. Ullmann, Manfred: Das Gespräch mit dem Wolf. Beiträge zur Lexikographie des Klassischen Arabisch 2. Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Philosophisch-historische Klasse. Sitzungsberichte. Jahrgang 1981, Heft. 2, München 1981. Urvoy, Dominique. Pensers d’al-Andalus. La Vie intellectuelle à Cordoue et Séville au temps des Empires berbères (fin XIe siècle-début XIIIe siècle). Paris: CNRS, 1990. Yaqub, Nadia. “Some of Us Must Depart: An Intertextual Reading of the Mountain Poem by Ibn Khafāja.” Journal of Arabic Literature, Vol. 30, 3 (1999), pp. 240–256.

Juan Carlos Cruz Suárez

Góngora on the Stage. Early Modern Spanish Poetry and Ingenium Abstract: Within the next pages, I will point out how ingenium became the column on which the poetic imagery of the Renaissance and the Baroque rested, remarking, likewise, how through the exercise of this human faculty the Early Modern poetic imagery developed into a more conceptual, symbolic, obscure, rhetorical and artificial one. In order to do this, I will show the importance of Góngora as the main transforming poet of that transitional epoch for aesthetics and thought.

I Luis de Góngora y Argote is an inescapable reference in the history of literature in the Spanish language. And this is for several reasons. One of them, perhaps the most favourable, is he is said to have been the poet who generated the most poetic controversy during the transition from the Renaissance to the Baroque period. In this sense, the poet of Córdoba proposed a work that severely amplified the limits of the metaphor of the Renaissance poetry – and therefore, the Petrarchan style – which had previously been written in Spain. This amplification is due, among other phenomena, to the powerful creative plethora of Góngora, in his efforts to bring the pre-established limits of the uses of metaphor to a new dimension, thus opening the text to its new baroque physiognomy, certainly one more hermetic, obscure or impenetrable, if preferred. For all these reasons, I will emphasise the modernity of Góngora, but at the same time, on his debts with his precedent literary tradition, establishing within his poetic production a sort of bridge between pre-modern Spanish poetic imagery and Early Modern one. To do this, I will focus not so much on the purely Baroque aspect of his works, but on one of the most popular and significant sonnets, since in its complexity we can observe the traces of a past and the marks of the poetic revolution initiated by the Cordovan. This sonnet – and all his work, in general – places Góngora as a poet in the transition between literary aesthetics, and the practice of ingenium1 (conceptualist and deeply metaphorical) as one of 1 I will use the form in Latin due to the semantic limitations of this concept in English. In this language ingenium can be translated as wit, ingenuity, inventiveness, etc. Ingenium, (in Spanish ingenio and in Italian ingegno) is all these together and much more, so we

274

Juan Carlos Cruz Suárez

the phenomena characterising this transition between periods. This evolution – and in a way, this rupture with the anterior tradition – was only possible by the use of some notably ingenious figures, the creation of a complex poetic voice based on a fine and erudite literary education, difficult to understand, obscure and therefore hermetic. Luis de Góngora y Argote appears on the Spanish literary scene of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries as the paradigm of the transitional poetry inherited from Italian Petrarchism and implanted in the Spanish lyric during the Renaissance, especially by Garcilaso’s poetry.2 Within the next pages, I will observe and display this development and, at the same time, I will show the importance of Góngora as a transformative poet of the Spanish pre-modern imagery to the Early Modern one.

II Obscuritas [obscurity, darkness, unclarity], by agreeing that it is a connotative phenomenon of the Baroque period,3 does not arise from the poetic expression to extend itself over the social and cultural framework of that time. The obscure poem is, in any case, the transmitter of a way of seeing the world that is tied to the immanent forces of the specific culture in which this light-dark tension is generated. For this reason, the obscure poem is at the same time a literary artifice and a claim for the reader of the poem. This claim depicts the reader’s eagerness to reveal the meaning of the poem in a cognitive and aesthetic process where he is involved or trapped in a sort of mental attraction provoked by his intellectual capacity and his indubitable will to deciphering the whole sense of the poem. This movement of attraction towards obscurity constitutes, in turn, a type of intellective suspension of the cognitive activity itself. The reader, imprisoned by the conflict generated are talking here about a cognitive human faculty inclined over the poetic creation as a whole. This observation allows us to consider this faculty – following the humanistic Italian and Spanish tradition – as a central concept in the attempt to define and understand the basis of the literary development from the pre-modern to the Early Modern Westen literature. 2 As Jorge Guillén pointed out, Góngora subverted the traditional poetic language to create a new one. Lenguaje y poesía (Madrid: Alianza, 1961), p. 70. 3 In his study about Góngora and his poetic praxis, Joaquín Roses Lozano established the criteria to relate the Baroque poetics and the obscutiras in Góngora’s Las Soledades (1613). This academic contribution is central in order to understand the importance of poetic obscuritas during the Early Modern period, as I am now highlighting. In Una poética de la oscuridad. La recepción crítica de las Soledades en el siglo XVII (Madrid: Támesis, 1984).

Góngora: Spanish Poetry and Ingenium

275

by the rhetoric and poetic artifice, will be also captivated within this particular manner of observing reality, estimating or valuing it in terms of his own ethical or ideological point of view and his general cultural background. Through this process, the world becomes a sort of figure – a mystery, in other words – to be elucidated, and art, culture, society and even politics, (as components of the world itself), will also constitute different types of human activities aimed to be codified and deciphered by an intellectual act. Some preceptists from the Early Modern period agreed that obscurity was a convenient literary practice, because – as it has been suggested – it generated in the reader the desire to go beyond, to look behind the veil that covers the represented figure and thus to acquire the knowledge that this poetic image treasures. Luis Alfonso de Carvallo, for example, did not hesitate to defend a certain degree of obscurity, since he considered it to be an important part of the task of the poet to “obscure things that deal with figures.”4 Therefore, this poetic practice acquired a positive opinion in the poetic ars wielded by Carvallo in the early seventeenth century. This obscurity allows the poet to produce an artifice that should be read and understood by forcing the reader to strive his intellectual capacities. Obscurity, as opposed to clarity, now overflows the boundaries of the frame that holds and encloses the poetic image, and thereby becomes an active, educable, transcendent entity, which concedes to the poem an ontological and aesthetic category related with a literary period. It acquires, therefore, its own values in the history of the aesthetic ideas.5 In order to relate this value to a certain epoch, it will be necessary to establish the limits within which this poetic practice became permissible or acquired a positive judgement. In that sense, the taste for obscurity in the Baroque has its spatial and conceptual prescriptive limitations in the epochs before and after its zenith. In the case of Spain, the obscure poetry of the Baroque took such a prominent role that it finally concentrated upon itself a series of critics that condemned the excessive obscurantism, and thus its nonsense, its banality, or its tendency to the artificial and the ornamental. In this sense, Spanish baroque poetry was severely 4 In Cisne de Apolo (Medina de Campo: Iuan Godinez de Millis, 1602), pp. 113–114. 5 At this point we cannot forget Boccaccio’s favorable judgment on the practice of obscuritas in his Genealogiae deorum getilium libri (1360). Boccaccio, among other commentators, in this sense, opened the door to a new affirmation about the qualities of obscuritas in order to produce complex and transcendental poetic works through the use of the lingua volgare, thus considering and valuing obscuritas in a very positive manner. See David Viñas Piquer, Historia de la crítica literaria (Barcelona: Ariel, 2002), pp. 129–134.

276

Juan Carlos Cruz Suárez

criticised by the neoclassical poetic sphere imposed years later. Placed in their classicist precepts and convictions, neoclassical critics rummaged through the history of national literature to highlight – among its literary canon – the representative model of a prestigious poetic practice that could consolidate the imitable aesthetic values of the Spanish Early Modern literary tradition. At the same time, in a way, this criticism’s intent to seek for an authorised literary model converged with the idea of a certain restoration of the legitimacy of Spanish poetry promoted by the fact that there were many critics – Spanish and foreigners – who, in the eighteenth century, denounced the poor state of Spanish literature during the Baroque period. In this sense, taking into account the importance that Garcilaso de la Vega had already achieved in the sixteenth century as an imitable paradigm, the reference or memory to his poetic compositions was inevitable and unanimous.6 In a way, this view of a past that was considered better from a critic perspective came at a time when many authors, encouraged by a new optimism, were convinced that they could return to the poetic values and techniques of Classical Spanish poetry. In this context, Garcilaso represented the most prestigious poetic praxis, not only to judge all national poetry, but also to actively undertake its total reform.7 His solid Renaissance background confirmed him as the reigning paradigm to be imitated in the works of the authors of the eighteenth century. That optimism, on the other hand, was nothing more than the positive crystallisation of a kind of sneaking nostalgia that came from the longing for an earlier literary epoch – the Renaissance –, which it attempted to draw into the present. The emphasis placed on a general renewal of the Spanish literary scene in the eighteenth century, on the other hand, had its point of departure in the critical discourse projected over the poetic obscurity. In this sense, in the seventeenth century the Hispanic literary tradition had settled itself on a representative model that had reached the status of a sort of paradigm linked to the Spanish literary taste. That reference or close relationship with this typical Baroque characteristic was exhibited through a literary practice immersed in rhetorical games of a conceptual and ingenious character. From this perspective, the Baroque poem conducted and disseminated the whole soul of a poetic tradition that, on the basis of Aristotle’s and Horace’s precepts, also recovered the Platonic vein about the poetic furor and its relationship with creating and composing poetry. This marriage between a compositional technique indebted to the literary tradition and 6 Apart from other poetic compositions, Garcilaso wrote 40 sonnets. All his work was published for the first time in 1543, in an appendix to Juan Boscán’s complete poetry. 7 Rusell P. Sebold describes the whole map of this issue in Descubrimiento y fronteras del neoclasicismo español (Madrid: Fundación Juan March. Cátedra, 1985), p. 67.

Góngora: Spanish Poetry and Ingenium

277

the action of a creative divine furor came, in its practice, from the premeditated intention of some poets who desired to cause the astonishment of their readers. The result, finally, produced a type of text that carried out an exercise of amplification of the previously established literary precepts. Added to the Classicism during the Renaissance – closely linked to the concept of imitatio and the Aristotelian mimesis – this new impulse made the poet stretch or flex the semantic and formal limits of the discourse, thereby causing the development of a very characteristic artifice that came precisely from the exaggeration of the poetic material developed since the Renaissance. Therefore, as we have just suggested, it was not a question of establishing a rupture with the literary paradigm prevailing in the Renaissance; there was no abolition or rejection of its rules, but a functional disruption occurred in the different levels of the logo [word].8 This constant recurrence to poetic strategies in order to conceal the meaning of the poem – finally creating the obscurity – was what finally provoked the attacks of the critics during the eighteenth century. The belligerent attitude of these commentators with respect to seventeenth century ingenious productions targeted the most representative poetic vices of the anterior Baroque style. And, of course, they found this poetic referent in the figure of Luis de Góngora.9 His poetry, ingenious and conceptual, caused a constant invitation to be deciphered by an intellective act. His adjustment to the poetic mechanisms of ingenious concealment, his inclination to the hermetic compositions, made his work the maximum exponent of a type of writing that dominated the poetic sphere of the Spanish Baroque; and, therefore, it was also the target of all the commentators criticism installed in the most Classicist line of his own century. But I will get back to Góngora after some other necessary considerations.

III The poetic language of the Baroque – the ingenious one – can be perceived as an immense altarpiece. The rhetorical materials that constitute and set up the linguistic apparatus in which it acquires its specific form are reworked from the

8 To delve into these aspects, see Juan Carlos Cruz Suárez, Ojos con mucha noche (Bern: Peter Lang, 2014), pp. 146–161. 9 As Lázaro Carreter confirms, Gongora’s detractors considered his poetry obscure and therefore execrable. In Barroco y personalidad creadora (Madrid: Cátedra, 1992), pp. 13–14. Among these detractors, I mention here Juan de Jaúregui and his Discurso poético (1624), Francisco Cascales in his Tablas poéticas (1617), and Ignacio Luzán in his Poética (1737).

278

Juan Carlos Cruz Suárez

basis of the poetic imagery imbricated in the Classical tradition. If we observe an obscure poem, soon we realise that the act of reading is an exercise that does not promise a certain understanding. Letters, verses, rhetorical figures, myths, bestiaries, classic topics, etc.,10 all together are conceived to awake in the reader the deepest admiration or, on the other hand, an immediate rejection. The activity of ingenium has produced a sort of symbolic monster, a poem that is itself a unique piece that generates in the reader a further impulse to decode its internal meaning, an impulse that is at the end a clear symptom of the reader’s incapacity or difficulty to escape from this poetic attraction.11 This sort of difficulty to escape from the act of reading and decoding shows us how the educated and erudite reader has acquired the vice of being persuaded by the possibility of undoing this sort of poetic riddle, appreciating, that way, the fold that involves the poem in two indivisible entities: form and its content. The rhetorical trap, complex and impenetrable, captivates our vision and our intellect since “only the difficult is stimulating, only the resistance that challenges us is capable of incarnating, arousing and maintaining our intellectual faculties.”12 Hence the further necessity to organise a meaning, to structure the ideas, to release the emotional and intellectual tension that follows after the disclosure of the poem’s eluded truth. The reader acquires certain knowledge through the ordination of the poetic materials that he already knew from his own cultural background. Phonemes, words, phrases, texts constitute a written language that does not seem to be understood from the analysis of their own logics. But difficulty and complexity precisely consist in deconstructing what the poet knows to be true by making it unrecognisable, giving it a new image, a disguise that distances and obscures it, in the eyes of a potential reader. In that way, logo disappears under the obscure, symbolic and rhetoric work of a poet feverishly motivated to subvert the natural logics of language.13 This poetic distortion is invoked through the implication of different compositional elements. All of these elements transfigure the discourse, impregnating it with a protean dimension that announces the emergence of a new poetic manner of observing reality. The Baroque poets cultivated this exercise by transposing language into a 10 Rosa Navarro Durán has presented the key manner to penetrate this rhetorical construction in La mirada al texto (Barcelona: Ariel, 1995). 11 Formal beauty and obscurity as a way to trap the attention of the reader, to attract him towards the act of reading and disclosing, as José Antonio Maravall has pointed out in La cultura del Barroco (Barcelona: Ariel, 1998), pp. 446–451. 12 Lezama Lima gives us a clear view of the importance of obscurity and its poetic praxis. La expresión americana (Madrid: Alianza, 1969), p. 9. [The translation is mine]. 13 See Cruz Suárez, Ojos con mucha noche, pp. 208–209.

Góngora: Spanish Poetry and Ingenium

279

new complex and artificial physiognomy that marked the origin a new paradigm in the literary history of our Western culture. Or, in another way, this tendency to create obscure poems serves as an argument, from certain perspectives of analysis, to affirm that this practice constitutes the nucleus around which revolve the poetic productions of the Baroque period.

IV Linked to this point, it would be necessary to focus on one of the most significant human faculties for literary studies: ingenium. This faculty was especially operative in the creative processes implemented by the Spanish poets during the Early Modern period. Ingenium was, for many reasons, a sort of cognitive toll used to find new paths to interact with reality. This interaction, at the end, shows us a kind of encrypted via or codified communication process between human being and God. As a product of the practice of ingenium, metaphor and tropes in general are arranged in a way to engage readers in decoding the hidden truth. Life is a figure that its author, God Himself, gives us so we can uncover it to know His divine words, as it was considered.14 This aspect must be understood within a cultural framework that maintained a solid relationship with the Catholic tradition that had been imposed since the Council of Trent. In this sense, ingenium acquired a central importance because the same post-Tridentine ecclesiastical oratory exhibited a highly rhetorical boasting,15 far removed from the principles of empiricism and rationalism, which would gradually be introduced in the seventeenth century. Ingenium and its positive assessment is, in my view, the hispánico modo16 that the Spanish cultural and social discourses produced to confront the emergence of the rationalist–Cartesian model that in the seventeenth century began to dominate throughout Europe. Spanish scholasticism, fully extended in the Church and the universities, presented features of its own model of thought, always enigmatic, providentialist, rhetorical, theatrical, metaphysical. The word – the discourse – and its domain

14 The Spanish thought of that time, following the dogmas of Trento, was involved and even sustained by this sort of metaphysical thought. See La peninsula metafísica (Madrid: Biblioteca Nueva, 1999) by Fernando Rodríguez de la Flor to understand the whole complexity of this issue. 15 A good example of this practice is presented in the sermons written by Hortensio Félix Paravicino, as it is pointed out in a volume published years after his death by Alonso Cano Nieto. See Oraciones evangélicas o discursos panegíricos y morales (1766). 16 As I name it in Ojos con mucha noche, pp. 65–70.

280

Juan Carlos Cruz Suárez

became a form of power. And ingenium, in that cultural and social formula, would have a central role in the configuration of the complete cartography of the Spanish Baroque culture. But even more, ingenium constitutes a human faculty through which the poet manages the creation of figures, images or rhetorical constructions aimed at captivating the attention of a certain reader. I say captivating, when I could say, that ingenium – and with it poetry and rhetoric – persuades, convinces, seduces; and thus also conquers and dominates the will of the reader, allowing him to fall into a game that he accepts and needs beforehand, since this sort of cultural game consolidates and fixes the coordinates of something very human: our natural tendency to consume and produce fictions. The way in which this poetic discourse penetrates the intimate space of a reader or the imagery of a particular community is done surreptitiously, without violence, almost as if the same text constituted a sort of murmur17 in which one firstly perceives a kind of music – which always traps –, and then confirms the presence of a type of truth that operates at certain socio-cultural levels. In the historical context in which we move, the rhetorical or poetic word is placed at the centre of the operations of knowledge. We are confirming here that Early Modern poetry is characterised, among other features, by the “pre-eminence of the word,”18 which corresponds, after years of humanist tradition, to the equalisation of verbum-res and ars-ingenium. It is – and I also follow Ernesto Grassi in this – an act of creating a discursive space in which the word treasured the status from which knowledge is generated. By dominating or controlling this type of discourse, the poet appears as the creator of human civilisation – something that G. Vico would later confirm in his Scienza Nuova (1725)19 – that is, he becomes a relevant social figure endowed with the special capacity – always ingenious – to conquer the language, the symbolic spaces, the cultural products, and finally the collective imagery. With this, the art of saying and interpreting entail the domain

17 Juan Carlos Cruz Suárez, “Nada más que murmullo. Notas sobre el ingenio y la poesía del Barroco español,” in: La cultura del Barroco español e iberoamericano y su contexto europeo, ed. Kazimierz Sabik and Karolina Kumor (Warzaw: Instituto de Estudios Ibéricos e Iberoamericanos and Universty of Warzaw, 2010), pp. 149–156. This article is an approach to the Baroque poetry – mainly Góngora’s works – through its comparison with a sort of murmur. 18 I quote here the title of an essential work to understand this matter. See Ernesto Grassi, La filosofía del humanismo: preeminencia de la palabra (Barcelona: Anthropos, 1999). 19 Vico brings us further by assuming that poets – as it has been mentioned – configure and shape human civilization.

Góngora: Spanish Poetry and Ingenium

281

of the intellectual and aesthetic mechanisms activated to generate those rhetorical artifices that the poet configures. All this with the sole purpose of connecting a series of desires that are already presupposed, or that are, in short, necessary to stimulate the game to seduce and be seduced reproduced in the contact between the poetic and its reception. The relevance of ingenium in the Early Modern period is clearly perceived in a series of works written to delve into the knowledge of this human faculty. Works such as Cisne de Apolo (published in 1602) by Luis Alfonso de Carvallo were precursors, in the Hispanic context, of the interest that the divine furor had among the preceptists of the late sixteenth century.20 This work, in fact, was an extraordinarily valuable example of how those thinkers related concepts such as inspiratio and ingenium in order to express the importance that both concepts had in the creative process. This assessment represented the overcoming of the Classical aesthetic thought that ruled the practice of poetry in relation to the authority of the ars and its result in the verba. Likewise, the interest for ingenium during the seventeenth century increased considerably, as shown in De acuto et arguto (1619–1620), by Maciej Kazimiers Sarbiewski, a treatise devoted to investigating the origin and definition of ingenium. At the same time, the influence between the Italian and Spanish literary spheres brought with it the publication of works dedicated to deepening the ingenium and its poetic materialisation, that is, the conceptism. Proof of this close influence were the two works Delle acutezze che altrimi spiriti, vivezze, e concetti volgarmente si appellano (1639), and Il Cannocchiale aristotelico (1655), written by the Italian preceptists Mateo Pellegrini and Emanuele Tesauro respectively. In the case of Spain, and clearly influenced by this critic interest, emerged two works that constituted the deepest theoretical approach to ingenium written until that moment: Arte de ingenio, tratado de la agudeza (1642) and its corrected and enlarged version Agudeza y arte de ingenio (1648), by Baltasar Gracián. Gracián, in the middle of the seventeenth century, tried to find the formula that makes the human being a creator of tropes and metaphors, an artificial language that comes from the practice of ingenium. Góngora, along with Marcial, are the two most commented authors in Gracián’s work, something that is not arbitrary. Gracián is here pointing out the importance of ingenium in understanding it as a 20 Divine furor was already a topic since the Classical age. This, in connection to the Neoplatonic philosophical position, was a central theme for the fifteenth and sixteenth century poets. Aurora Egido connects this central concept to the more Baroque inspiration and ingenium. See Fronteras de la poesía del Barroco (Barcelona: Crítica, 1990), pp. 14–18.

282

Juan Carlos Cruz Suárez

human faculty that aims to unravel the mystery hidden under the strong rhetorical accent of these authors’ poetry, or poetry and language in general. Gracián, also, as a good Jesuit, was fully aware of the teachings of the Ratio Studiorum, thereby reinforcing the value of rhetorical practice as a mechanism for social interaction and even moral education.21 As we are already suggesting, Gracián elaborated a treatise to delve into conceptualising a whole model for understanding ingenium as a human faculty inclined over certain compositional forms, therefore, a sort of poetic art or compendium of literary precepts. But, furthermore, his work occupies a central space in the general map of the social and cultural discourse of that time. Not surprisingly, Yves Hersant asserts that “l’Agudeza y Arte de Ingenio expose une conception de la langue, une philosophie du style, une rhétorique du plaisir qui apparaissent indisociables d’une doctrine du pouvoir.”22 Language, philosophy of style and rhetoric of pleasure, all within the same frame of reflection and analysis that binds them, that makes them act complementarily within the space of the activity of ingenium. And, in addition, this combination of intellectual faculties is integrated in the same dimension of discourses of power. Therefore, we are talking about a treaty that does not respond to a mere outfit of poetic rules, but we are dealing with a total work through which we can examine the way in which Baroque men and women used the discourses and languages that legitimised them in the society of their time.23 But in addition, Gracián’s work postulated the paradigm of the i​​ mitable values by the Hispanic literary tradition that in the seventeenth century had reached its apogee. That prestigious position achieved by the Spanish poets who exploited 21 Miguel Batllori comments that in spite of the influence of the Ratio in Gracián’s work, the Jesuit updates some of its precepts to the new socio-cultural situation of the Baroque. See Gracián y el Barroco. (Roma: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura, 1958). On the other hand, J.A. Fernández Guerrero explains the certain relationship between the Ratio and the development of the Spanish Baroque rhetoric in “Defensa de la retórica barroca,” Edad de Oro, Vol. XXIII (2004), pp. 42–43. 22 Yves Hersant, La métaphore baroque. D’Aristote à Tesauro. Extraits du Cannocchiale aristotelico (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 2001), p. 50. 23 L. Ascenchi asserts that in Gracián we find all the themes of a baroque poetics: the artifice, the obscurity, the polyvalence, the alteration of the word. Gracián’s theory about ingenium affirms that beauty is to the eyes what the concept is to the mind. The concept appears as an organic, meaningful, profound way of seeing, in which the expressive fabric of diction is illuminated with revealing lights, with allusions that discover meanings. In La idea del Barroco. Estudios sobre un problema estético (Madrid: Tecnos, 1991), pp. 138–143.

Góngora: Spanish Poetry and Ingenium

283

or amplified the poetic resources inherited from the Renaissance enhanced the transfiguring role of ingenium as a human capacity that developed and modified the poetic language of that time. To conclude with this brief valuation of Gracián’s works, Victor Bouillier’s critical reading of some of his most famous books points out a possible definition, from Gracián’s point of view, of what is the ingenious activity. For Bouillier, ingenium encompasses various qualities – natural or acquired – related to understanding (in the sense of perception) and intelligence, but also to judgment, reasoning, and some practical abilities and varied knowledge.24 From Bouiller’s perspective, we cannot reach an exact definition of what ingenium is, but of the qualities on which it bows. For this reason, following a careful reading of Gracian’s work, we find it often a complex task to establish a clear distinction between what would be ingenium itself and what is, after all, its materialisation in the poem, that is, the conceit. From my point of view, García Berrio succeeds by asserting that the conceit is restricted to the results of the ingenium’s operations.25 In that direction, ingenium would be a human faculty framed within the cognitive functions of human knowledge and wisdom. It is related to inventio, the inventive ability, the generation of fictions. Its origin is natural, and therefore can be taught. Because of its inclination over human creations in general, it is adjustable, as shown by the preceptives that arose in the seventeenth century. The conceit, in turn, would be the poetic result of the whole process, the final image that comes from the inventive faculty and the cognitive action that shapes it. The conceit is the encrypted element that allows an unveiling or later revelation. Therefore, it is the keeper of a certain sort of truth previously hidden by the action of ingenium. The deciphering of this truth produces a movement of return towards the intellect, towards the ingenium itself that finally acquires – with the new vision offered by the conceit – a new knowledge, a different manner of perceiving reality.26 The conceit is not only a poetic resource elaborated for ornamental purposes, but in the case of the Spanish Baroque, conceptism is a way of expressing the existential chaos and the human crisis that arises in a period of transition between models of thought. Conceptism – and with it ingenium – expresses the desire to flee from the void, to escape from balance and the celestial harmony imposed by an earlier tradition 24 In “Notes sur L’Oráculo Manual de Balthasar Gracián,” Bulletin Hispanique, Vol. 13, No. 3 (1991), pp. 331–336. 25 See Antonio García Berrio, España e Italia ante el conceptismo (Madrid: Revista de Filología Española. Anejo LXXXVII. Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 1968), p. 61. 26 See Cruz Suárez, Ojos con mucha noche, pp. 195–206.

284

Juan Carlos Cruz Suárez

expressed in poetic models that tended towards equilibrium. The baroque metaphor – that which we may well call conceptism – perverts these limits to show a human being wrapped in an existential crisis, in a clear mutation towards what would later be called modernity. In all of these possible approaches to define it, in any case, the intellectual propensity of that faculty is estimated in a very positive manner, which, likewise, speaks to us of its clear integration in the cognitive processes of the human being. In this sense, as it has been already suggested, ingenium represents much more than a simple formalist aspect of poetry for writers and thinkers, namely one of the most relevant notions in the attempt to understand the evolution of Western culture’s poetic imagery.

V To read Góngora is to look into the Spanish Baroque’s real physiognomy. And so, Góngora himself, in his writing, remarked some of the master verses of literary history. He introduced some of its most characteristic poetic details, nuances, colours, musicality, rhythm, confusion. His poetry is a sort of logbook in which the Spanish cultural constructionalist process is inscribed. His poems represent a way to elucidate and interpret the Spanish thought of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Therefore, if his works are “exuberant and uncomfortable,”27 it is because so was also his own historical context. Hence, perhaps, the “fervor and rejection” that his poetry caused in some of his commentators.28 But, likewise, that admiration and repudiation is not that different to other models of expression of the time. From our perspective, we understand this rejection as a criticism against the model of thought settled in the post Trento’s Counter Reformation in Spain. And yet, the Spanish Baroque reaches its peak of complexity with Góngora’s poetic voice. His sonnets, for example, are an immense metaphorical framework that ingeniously and masterfully manages the poetic word until it is made visible in a different way, in a new language that evokes a truth undone in the symbolicrhetorical or mythological figures that configure or shape the whole poem. Góngora, in this sort of poetic stage, performs the most intimately poetic imagery of the Baroque. Periphrasis, myths, metaphors, hyperbatons, different types of tropes and very selective lexicon that came from the Classical languages constitute a system that shields the deep meaning of the poem and allows, with 27 As Ortega defines Góngoras poetry. El espíritu, p. 149. 28 To follow the poetic controversy related to this matter, see Cruz Suárez Ojos con mucha noche, pp. 224–255.

Góngora: Spanish Poetry and Ingenium

285

this, to project a challenge on the reader’s intellectual will. In Góngora’s works, we find justified Steiner’s affirmation about the art of difficulty when he assumes that the poet’s language can be compared to the path of a charged particle through the middle of a cloud. An energised field of association and connotation, harmonics and semitones, riddles and homophones surrounds its movement and detaches from it in the context of the collision (words speak not only to the ear, but also to the eye and even touch). The multiplicity of meanings, “the hermetic,” is the rule, not the exception.29 This procedure to dispel the Classical rule in favour of the hermetic, obscure and difficult was what Góngora sought to challenge his readers with when he wrote Las Soledades (1613). This work constitutes the zenith of the re-creation of reality – in poetic terms – from a consciousness of mimesis – as Pedro Ruiz Pérez remarks –, which manifests itself in “the opacity of a language (artistic, poetic) whose objective is not to reveal and express reality, but to manifest the alienation, the melancholy, and to try to suture the split and the loss of meaning.”30 This work immediately became the centre of the most controversial literary debate of that time. Somehow, Góngora provoked this controversy on purpose, but, by doing it, he opened a new path in the Spanish poetry of the seventeenth century.31 Las Soladedes, which in the time of Góngora acquired the poetic sense of a silva,32 is presented with the paradoxical and interesting relationship between a leafy vegetation and an uninhabited place at the same time. The topic of the pilgrim is confronted here with his solitary human condition, and it is connoted, nevertheless, with the exuberant flora that surrounds his existence. It is a sort of Arcadia, after all, a place poetized to express withdrawal and idealized serenity,33 and in which poetry, however, undoes the traditional language of the silva to make it appear now with the ornamentation that inaugurated the new path of the Spanish Baroque poetry. As Molho has said, “Góngora operates the poetic transmutation of the universe through the conceit: one must learn to read him with the eyes of a Gracián. It will be discovered then that the poem is no more than a game of 29 George Steiner’s Sobre la dificultad (México: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2001), p. 42. 30 El espacio de la escritura. Entorno a una poética del espacio del texto barroco (Berna: Peter Lang, 1996), p. 76. [The translation is mine]. 31 It is fair to remember here Luis Carrillo y Sotomayor’s Libro de la erudición poética (1611) as precursor of this transition from Reinassance to Baroque poetry. Carrillo y Sotomayor died too young to develop his poetry into a more artificial form, as Góngora did. 32 As Mauricio Molho has asserted in Semántica y poética. Góngora, Quevedo (Madrid: Crítica, 1988), p. 49. 33 I follow Mauricio Molho in this aspect. Semántica y poética, p. 51.

286

Juan Carlos Cruz Suárez

words, in the best sense of the expression: a harmonious conjunction of words (concento), evocative of a rigorous construction of the ingenium.”34 Prior to the publication of Las soledades, Góngora had already left the stamp of his creative talent in a series of romances and sonnets. Through them, we witness the gradual process in which the poet rendered complex and obscure the poetic resources that he took from the Renaissance’s style. The poetic imagery of the Early Modern period itself will not undergo a substantial change in the motifs or topics, but in form. That formal aspect is what determines the new ingenious physiognomy of the Baroque’s metaphor. In order to highlight these formal differences, I will briefly analyse a sonnet written by Garcilaso that accurately gathers the Renaissance model that he represents as a paradigm. En tanto que de rosa y azucena se muestra la color en vuestro gesto, y que vuestro mirar ardiente, honesto, enciende al corazón y lo refrena; y en tanto que el cabello, que en la vena del oro se escogió, con vuelo presto, por el hermoso cuello blanco, enhiesto, el viento mueve, esparce y desordena: coged de vuestra alegre primavera el dulce fruto, antes que el tiempo airado cubra de nieve la hermosa cumbre; marchitará la rosa el viento helado. Todo lo mudará la edad ligera por no hacer mudanza en su costumbre. [So long as of red rose and lily white the proper colors of your face now show, and your impassioned, fervent, honest glance inflames the heart and holds it close in tow; and so long as your hair, which in a vein of gold was mined, endowed with rapid flight, around your lovely white, and haughty throat the wind can still move, scatter, and uncomb;

34 M. Molho, Semántica y poética, p. 6. We should understand conceit as a poetic image projected by the ingenium, its poetic expression and its possible meaning, as it has mentioned before.

Góngora: Spanish Poetry and Ingenium

287

go, pluck now from the spring of your delight the sweetest fruit, before the angry years can wrap the lovely peak in snowy scenes. The icy wind will cause the rose to wilt, and all things will be changed by fickle time, so as to never change its own routine.]35

In this canonical sonnet, set within the lyrical production that Garcilaso left us, the poet retakes the topic of carpe diem. The Petrarchist tradition, to which it belongs, is clearly expressed by using the topic of the lady and its description, unequivocally canonical. Both Garcilaso and Petrarch before him produce a poetry in which the lady becomes a recurring motif as a vehicle to further elaborate a poem that treasured a moral, religious, social or aesthetics meaning. This poetic subject represents one of the main motifs in the entire poetic imagery, pre-modern as well as Early Modern. The descriptio puellae corresponds to the characterisation typified in the Classic poetry, and later in the amour courtois and the Tuscan poetry from the pre-Renaissance in Italy.36 This manner of introducing the lady – always blonde, with a slender and delicate neck, pale face, red lips – is therefore a kind of literary idealisation that reaches Spain in the Middle Ages. However, it will be during the Renaissance, and specifically in the work of Garcilaso de la Vega, when this model was completely adopted by the cultural collective imagery of that time. The influence of Petrarch, in this sense, is absolute. The Spanish authors of the Renaissance, through a loyal imitatio of the most recurrent topics of Petrarch, begin their own path towards the praise or eulogy of Castilian language as a vehicle to achieve a literary glory and cultural prestige. In any case, the description of the lady is elaborated in the poem following that dominant tradition. And with this comes the balance, the poetical and rhetorical clarity, all accompanied by a strong lyricism. The poetry of Petrarch – and his perpetual search for Laura in his Canzoniere – contains elements strongly idealized within the culture in which it is inscribed, as the topic of the lady. Through the admiration of her beauty, the poet establishes a sort of perspective from which we can assess life itself. In the case presented here, both the formal equilibrium between the quartets and the tercets, as well as the use of a language enriched with recognisable poetic figures – all highlighted with a strong lyricism – allows us to

35 Sonnet XXIII. Translated by Alix Ingber. 36 The works by Chrétien de Troyes (Lancelot ou le Chevalier de la charrette, 1176–1181), Dante (Commedia, 1304–1321) or Petrarca (Canzoniere, fourteenth century, published for first time in 1470) are some relevant examples of this subject.

288

Juan Carlos Cruz Suárez

observe the way in which the Classicist poetics of the Renaissance dominates in the creative voice of the poet. The temporal anaphora [So long as] sets the initial rhythm with which the poet introduces the physiognomy of the lady (always within the same classical paradigm to which it belongs). At the beginning of the first tercet, the imperative indicates an action marked by a vital impulse [Go]. This is the moment in which the awareness of what we are and what we will cease to be with the passing of time is presented. But it is also a reminder to live life according to the same balance that is perceived in the very formal organisation of the poem. There is therefore no warning with a negative background, but rather an acceptance of the passing of time and therefore a reminder to live in the moment. In the poetry of Petrarca as well as in Garcilaso’s later one, Neoplatonic thought dominates over the topic of love and the poetic representations of the ephemeral, as human life itself is represented within this sonnet by painting this archetype of feminine beauty. This Neoplatonism poetical practice expresses the final union with the divine sphere, with God. Hence, in spite of the ephemeral, love, life, will lead us to God. And in that context, being, the human existence, acquires a sort of hope that saves it from its perishable condition, and gives it in turn eternity. From there, it will be evident that this type of poems maintains a certain range of positivity. As the sixteenth century progresses, however, poetry became more obscure and difficult, and ingenium takes on a greater importance in creating the conceits (that is, the poetic materialization of ingenium) dispersed within the poems through all kinds of tropes to make the whole poetic experience more impenetrable or hermetic. In order to comment on this aspect, I will focus on one of the most celebrated sonnets written by Góngora: Mientras por competir con tu cabello, oro bruñido al sol relumbra en vano; mientras con menosprecio en medio el llano mira tu blanca frente el lilio bello; Mientras a cada labio, por cogello, siguen más ojos que al clavel temprano; y mientras triunfa con desdén Lozano del luciente cristal tu gentil cuello: Goza cuello, cabello, labio y frente, antes que lo que fue en tu edad dorada oro, lilio, clavel, cristal luciente, No sólo en plata o viola troncada se vuelva, mas tu y ello juntamente en tierra, en humo, en polvo, en sombra, en nada.

Góngora: Spanish Poetry and Ingenium

289

[While trying with your tresses to compete in vain the sun’s rays shine on burnished gold; while with abundant scorn across the plain does your white brow the lily’s hue behold; while to each of your lips, to catch and keep, are drawn more eyes than to carnations bright; and while with graceful scorn your lovely throat transparently still bests all crystal’s light, take your delight in throat, locks, lips, and brow, before what in your golden years was gold, carnation, lily, crystal luminous, not just to silver or limp violets will turn, but you and all of it as well to earth, smoke, dust, to gloom, to nothingness.]37

Formally, here we have a canonical sonnet, carefully elaborated, dominated by a brilliant lyricism and subtly inclined on the act of creating beauty. The central figure of the poem is – again – the lady. This sonnet, from the late sixteenth century, reworked the topic of descriptio puellae through a conceptual and ingenious poetic elaboration. By enumerating the lady’s physical characteristics in relation to different elements of reality, the first two quartets serve to place us in the poetic image that the poet re-elaborates. As in the Garcilasos’s sonnet seen before, the temporal anaphora Mientras [While], marks the rhythm of diction, but also it is displayed to provide the poem with a certain existential temporality: a vital process, the passing of time. Along with this fact, the beauty of the lady is highlighted, her fullness and purity, her youth. The entrance of the first tercet (as in the case of Garcilasos’s sonnet) is conditioned with the semantic connotations of the imperative: Goza [Enjoy]. This imperative introduces all those physical characteristics that have been presented before to denote the lady’s beauty. Now, the temporality in the poem takes on a new dimension, since time appears here under the light of disillusionment. What seemed to be imperishable, namely the lady’s beauty, will eventually become dust, shadow, nothing. As Elena Cantarino affirms, that revelation of the final meaning brings the reader from the admiratio to the disillusionment, in the whole context of the Baroque ingenious poetry.38 Indeed, this

37 Sonnet CLXVI. Translated by Alix Ingber. 38 In “Cifra y contracifras del mundo: el ingenio y los grandes descifradores,” in: Gracián: Barroco y modernidad, ed. Miguel Grande and Ricardo Pinilla (Madrid: Universidad Pontificia Comillas, Servicio de Publicaciones, 2004), pp. 181–202.

290

Juan Carlos Cruz Suárez

is so. The poetic admiration that Góngora forges throughout the whole composition collides with a final verse that is configured over a few concepts inserted in the cultural coordinates of what we called the century of melancholy. This verse of increasing intensity concludes with a determining adverb that must be taken as the cognitive perspective through which we can understand the reading and its meaning. Renaissance optimism, clarity and balance are replaced here by the disappointment produced by the awareness of an irreparable and irrepressible event, that is, the inevitable coming of death. But it does not end here, we must look beyond, because it is not death which at the end remains. There is no remaining substance, in any of its possible forms. There is only absolute emptiness, nothing to replace hope. Pascal talked about the new advances in astronomy that were made during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and their relationship with a new form of human existential crisis, a sort of anguish or distress that a human being experiences when beholding itself in the “silence éternel des espaces infinis.”39 This horror vacui is what generates in society, in culture and more specifically in every art production, the coating, the exuberant decoration, or the rhetorical artificial enrichment of all those empty spaces (be they physical, substantial or even abstracts) that had to be conquered through figures and representations which were capable of encrypting the mystery of human life. Góngora, in his sonnet, does it too, in this case by resorting to a topic highly diffused by his own cultural framework and the classical world in general. The beauty of the lady, her power as a representative icon of life as a whole, is here confronted with her ephemeral and fragile condition. Its decline, its deterioration, its slow but inevitable decay leads us to the absolute disillusion when the corporeal element vanishes without leaving any trace of life. The sonnet shows, in this sense, the transit of an imagery loaded with idealised poetic figures in complete equilibrium, towards a poetry that reflects a time of crisis and disillusionment. Baroque art and literature, in this way, is wrapped in a kind of melancholy that will eventually blur or deform the previous poetic motives to thereby configure the imagery that gradually opens up to disappointment, doubt and scepticism, in which modernity will emerge later. Obviously, the sonnet retakes the topic of carpe diem by electing and remaking a Classical descriptio puellae, as it has been already mentioned. The poetic imagery of the time is loaded with this type of feminine figures idealised by literary tradition, although this representation pursues a different objective. In this case, the lady and her beauty overlap a sort of existential moment represented by youth. In

39 I take the quote from Arnold Hauser, Historia social de la literatura y del arte (Barcelona: RBA, 2005), p. 602.

Góngora: Spanish Poetry and Ingenium

291

turn, youth is confronted – from the reminder of carpe diem announced by using the imperative verbal form – with the disillusionment provoked by the passing of time, the proximity of death, as it has been suggested. This sort of melancholic state of mind marks the entry into the literary sphere of one of the most settled themes in the Spanish baroque imagery, as will be confirmed years later. Therefore, the poem re-elaborates the subject of descriptio puellae in order to introduce the main theme of the sonnet, the carpe diem, and another topic associated with it: tempus irreparabilis est or the better known tempus fugit, both of them enlaced with the complexity and obscurity of the new Baroque poetic imagery to come. Góngora, through the combination of different poetic elements, recovers a recognisable figure within the imagery of the time, but in this case, he re-elaborates it by using poetic resources subtly hidden behind a veil of the conceptual artificiality produced by his particular pre-Baroque ingenium. As is thus shown through a detailed comparative analysis, sonnets like this show the substantial change that gradually took place between pre-modern and Early Modern poetry, that is, the transition from the Classical dominant prescriptive rule ars-verba, to the new Baroque form in which ingenium constituted the most significant value in creating poetry. Hence the importance of remembering Góngora. The Cordovan hispanizes the Baroque poetry, with his work he inaugurates a new literary and cultural framework, a time in which all the particular features of that culture are accentuated. To read Góngora is to read the evolution of an earlier model, also Hispanic – represented by the lyric of Garcilaso –, but rooted in the uses and resources – and I follow Pedro Ruiz Pérez in this – of the Italian Renaissance and the classical world.40 Together with other poets of that time, Góngora also imitated these models, but in doing so he reworked them until he provided them with a new hispanized trace: he impregnated them with the Spanish epicurean temperament and the Spanish cultural and even social thought of his time. His poetry emerges in parallel to the symbolic protuberances that emerged within the Catholic Tridentine tradition, the imperial visions of Spanish politics of that period, and the propensity to the scholastic metaphysics that cultivated a sort of nebulous rhetoric that, finally, revealed and consolidated itself as a phenomenon connoted by its precariousness, theatricality and mysterious condition. From this point of view, the world itself 40 This tradition becomes visible in the works of 17th century poets. As Pedro Ruiz Pérez affirms, “Hyperbathic alterations, lexical or semantic cultism, bold adjectivation, metaphorization or games with the substance of the signifier are part of the repertoire formed by a tradition of centuries and accessible to the poets of the seventeenth century.” In El espacio de la escritura, p. 71. [The translation is mine].

292

Juan Carlos Cruz Suárez

was embedded in a sort of codified discourse. The poet, constituted here as a decipherer of the enigmas and tribulations that surrounded his reality, acquired a fundamental role in codifying and decoding the discourses in which he represented the complexity of human condition. He – the poet – offered a glimpse at the world, an ingenious approach to the truth – a sort of truth, provided by God, in their own visions – hidden between the folds and shadows of that poetic labyrinth full of transcendental meanings.

Bibliography Anceschi, Luciano. La idea del Barroco. Estudios sobre un problema estético. Madrid: Tecnos, 1991. Batllori, Miguel. Gracián y el Barroco. Roma: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura, 1958. Bouiller, Victor. “Notes sur L’Oráculo Manual de Balthasar Gracián.” Bulletin Hispanique, Vol. 13, No. 3, 1991, pp. 316–336. Cano Nieto, Alonso. Oraciones evangélicas o discursos panegíricos y morales. 1766. Cantarino, Elena. “Cifra y contracifras del mundo: el ingenio y los grandes descifradores.” In: Gracián: Barroco y modernidad, ed. Miguel Grande and Ricardo Pinilla. Madrid: Universidad Pontificia Comillas, Servicio de Publicaciones, 2004, pp. 181–202. Carrillo y Sotomayor, Luis. Libro de la erudición poética, ed. Rosa Navarro Duráne. Madrid: Castalia, 1990. Carvallo, Luis Alfonso de. Cisne de Apolo. Medina de Campo: Iuan Godinez de Millis, 1602. Cascales, Francisco. Tablas poéticas. Madrid: Espasa-Calpe, 1975. Cruz Suárez, Juan Carlos. Ojos con mucha noche. Ingenio, poesía y pensamiento en el Barroco español. Bern: Peter Lang, 2014. —. “Nada más que murmullo. Notas sobre el ingenio y la poesía del Barroco español.” In: La cultura del Barroco español e iberoamericano y su contexto europeo, ed. Kazimierz Sabik and Karolina Kumor. Warzaw: Instituto de Estudios Ibéricos e Iberoamericanos and Universty of Warzaw, 2010, pp. 149–156. Egido, Aurora. Fronteras de la poesía en el Barroco. Barcelona: Crítica, 1990. García Berrio, Antonio. España e Italia ante el conceptismo. Madrid: Revista de Filología Española. Anejo LXXXVII. Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 1968. Góngora y Argote, Luis de. Las Soledades. Madrid: Cátedra, 1998. —. Góngora, Luis de. Poesías. Madrid: Emiliano Escobar, 1975. Gracián, Baltasar. Arte de Ingenio, Tratado de la Agudeza. Madrid: Cátedra, 1998.

Góngora: Spanish Poetry and Ingenium

293

—. Agudeza y Arte de Ingenio. Madrid: Espasa-Calpe, 1957. Grassi, Ernesto. La filosofía del Humanismo: preeminencia de la palabra. Barcelona: Anthropos, 1993. Guillén, Jorge: Lenguaje y poesía. Madrid: Alianza, 1961. Hauser, Arnold. Historia social de la literatura y el arte I. Barcelona: RBA, 2005. Hernández Guerrero, José Antonio: “Defensa de la retórica barroca.” Edad de Oro, Vol. XXIII 2004 (Madrid: Universidad Autónoma de Madrid), pp. 41–51. Hersant, Yves, ed. La métaphore baroque. D’Aristote à Tesauro. Extraits du Cannocchiale aristotelico. Paris : Éditions du Seuil, 2001. Jaúregui, Juan de. Discurso poético. Madrid: Alfar, 1978. Lázaro Carreter, Fernando. Estilo barroco y personalidad creadora. Madrid: Cátedra, 1992. Luzán, Ignacio. Poética. Madrid: Cátedra, 1974. Maravall, José Antonio. La cultura del Barroco. Barcelona: Ariel, 1998. Molho, Mauricio. Semántica y poética. Góngora, Quevedo. Madrid: Crítica, 1988. Navarro Durán, Rosa. Rosa: La mirada al texto. Barcelona: Ariel, 1995. Ortega y Gasset, José. Espíritu de la letra. Madrid: Cátedra, 1985. Rodríguez de la Flor, Fernando. La península metafísica: arte, literatura y pensamiento en la España de la Contrarreforma. Madrid: Biblioteca Nueva, 1999. Roses Lozano, Joaquín. Una poética de la oscuridad. La recepción crítica de las Soledades en el siglo XVII. Madrid: Támesis, 1984. Ruiz Pérez, Pedro. El espacio de la escritura. En torno a una poética del espacio del texto barroco. Berna: Peter Lang, 1996. Sebold, Russell P: Descubrimiento y fronteras del neoclasicismo español. Madrid: Fundación Juan March. Cátedra, 1985. Steiner, George: Sobre la dificultad y otros ensayos. México: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2001. Viñas Piquer, David. Historia de la crítica literaria. Barcelona: Ariel, 2002. Vico, Giambattista: Ciencia nueva. Madrid: Tecnos, 1995.

Notes on Contributors Juan Carlos Cruz Suárez, Ph.D., University of Salamanca, is associate professor of Spanish at Stockholm University. His main areas of research are wit, poetry and philosophy in the Spanish Baroque period; Spanish Golden Age studies; memory and contemporary novel in Spain and Latin America. Email: [email protected] Kerstin Eksell, Professor of Arabic at Stockholm University 1988–2001, Professor of Semitic Philology at the University of Copenhagen 2001–2013, is affiliated researcher of Arabic at Stockholm University. Her main research interests are classical and modern Arabic literature, in particular classical poetry, translation studies and cultural contact. Email: [email protected] Laura Feldt, MA of Assyriology (University of Copenhagen), Ph.D. in the Study of Religion (Aarhus University), is associate professor of the study of religion at the University of Southern Denmark. She has published books and articles on ancient Near East religious narratives, rituals, space and identity formation, as well as on religion, media, and contemporary popular culture. Email: [email protected] Stina Jelbring, Ph.D., is associate professor of the language and culture of Japan at Stockholm University. Her research interests concern on the one hand, the classical Japanese literature, particularly in the period stretching from the ninth to the twelfth century, and on the other, theoretical problems of metaphor and translation. Email: [email protected] Jesper Høgenhaven, Dr.theol., is professor of Old Testament at the University of Copenhagen, Faculty of Theology (since 2007). Main fields of research: Old Testament theology and hermeneutics, biblical reception history, Qumran/Dead Sea Scrolls and ancient Judaism, especially biblical interpretation in antiquity, prophetic texts and traditions of the Old Testament. Email: [email protected] Gunilla Lindberg-Wada is professor emerita of Japanology, Stockholm University. Her main research interests are literary history writing and Japanese literature from ancient to modern time with a focus on the classics of the tenth through the thirteenth centuries, in particular poetry and fictional tales. E-mail: Gunilla. [email protected]

296

Contributors

Lena Rydholm is professor of Chinese at Uppsala University, Sweden. Her main research interests are classical and modern Chinese literature, in particular poetry and fiction, and Chinese literary theories, especially theories of genre and style. Email: [email protected] Claudia Zichi is Ph.D. candidate of Greek (Ancient and Byzantine) at Lund University. Main research interest: Plato’s literary style, his literary strategies and more specifically his use of poetic quotations and the re-use and re-adaptation of the literary motifs occurring in the earlier poetic tradition. Email: Claudia.Zichi@ klass.lu.se

Literary and Cultural Theory General editor: Wojciech H. Kalaga Vol.

1

Wojciech H. Kalaga: Nebulae of Discourse. Interpretation, Textuality, and the Subject. 1997.

Vol.

2

Wojciech H. Kalaga / Tadeusz Rachwał (eds.): Memory – Remembering – Forgetting. 1999.

Vol.

3

Piotr Fast: Ideology, Aesthetics, Literary History. Socialist Realism and its Others. 1999.

Vol.

4

Ewa Rewers: Language and Space: The Poststructuralist Turn in the Philosophy of Culture. 1999.

Vol.

5

Floyd Merrell: Tasking Textuality. 2000.

Vol.

6

Tadeusz Rachwał / Tadeusz Slawek (eds.): Organs, Organisms, Organisations. Organic Form in 19th-Century Discourse. 2000.

Vol.

7

Wojciech H. Kalaga / Tadeusz Rachwał: Signs of Culture: Simulacra and the Real. 2000.

Vol.

8

Tadeusz Rachwal: Labours of the Mind. Labour in the Culture of Production. 2001.

Vol.

9

Rita Wilson / Carlotta von Maltzan (eds.): Spaces and Crossings. Essays on Literature and Culture in Africa and Beyond. 2001.

Vol.

10

Leszek Drong: Masks and Icons. Subjectivity in Post-Nietzschean Autobiography. 2001.

Vol.

11

Wojciech H. Kalaga / Tadeusz Rachwał (eds.): Exile. Displacements and Misplacements. 2001.

Vol.

12

Marta Zajac: The Feminine of Difference. Gilles Deleuze, Hélène Cixous and Contempora-ry Critique of the Marquis de Sade. 2002.

Vol.

13

Zbigniew Bialas / Krzysztof Kowalczyk-Twarowski (eds.): Alchemization of the Mind. Literature and Dissociation. 2003.

Vol.

14

Tadeusz Slawek: Revelations of Gloucester. Charles Olsen, Fitz Hugh Lane, and Writing of the Place. 2003.

Vol.

15

Carlotta von Maltzan (ed.): Africa and Europe: En/Countering Myths. Essays on Literature and Cultural Politics. 2003.

Vol.

16

Marzena Kubisz: Strategies of Resistance. Body, Identity and Representation in Western Culture. 2003.

Vol.

17

Ewa Rychter: (Un)Saying the Other. Allegory and Irony in Emmanuel Levinas’s Ethical Language. 2004.

Vol.

18

Ewa Borkowska: At the Threshold of Mystery: Poetic Encounters with Other(ness). 2005.

Vol.

19

Wojciech H. Kalaga / Tadeusz Rachwał (eds.): Feeding Culture: The Pleasures and Perils of Appetite. 2005.

Vol.

20

Wojciech H. Kalaga / Tadeusz Rachwał (eds.): Spoiling the Cannibals’ Fun? Cannibalism and Cannibalisation in Culture and Elsewhere. 2005.

Vol.

21

Katarzyna Ancuta: Where Angels Fear to Hover. Between the Gothic Disease and the Meataphysics of Horror. 2005.

Vol.

22

Piotr Wilczek: (Mis)translation and (Mis)interpretation: Polish Literature in the Context of Cross-Cultural Communication. 2005.

Vol.

23

Krzysztof Kowalczyk-Twarowski: Glebae Adscripti. Troping Place, Region and Nature in America. 2005.

Vol.

24

Zbigniew Białas: The Body Wall. Somatics of Travelling and Discursive Practices. 2006.

Vol.

25

Katarzyna Nowak: Melancholic Travelers. Autonomy, Hybridity and the Maternal. 2007.

Vol.

26

Leszek Drong: Disciplining the New Pragmatism. Theory, Rhetoric, and the Ends of Literary Study. 2007.

Vol.

27

Katarzyna Smyczyńska: The World According to Bridget Jones. Discourses of Identity in Chicklit Fictions. 2007.

Vol.

28

Wojciech H. Kalaga / Marzena Kubisz (eds.): Multicultural Dilemmas. Identity, Difference, Otherness. 2008.

Vol.

29

Maria Plochocki: Body, Letter, and Voice. Construction Knowledge in Detective Fiction. 2010.

Vol.

30

Rossitsa Terzieva-Artemis: Stories of the Unconscious: Sub-Versions in Freud, Lacan and Kristeva. 2009.

Vol.

31

Sonia Front: Transgressing Boundaries in Jeanette Winterson’s Fiction. 2009.

Vol.

32

Wojciech Kalaga / Jacek Mydla / Katarzyna Ancuta (eds.): Political Correctness. Mouth Wide Shut? 2009.

Vol.

33

Paweł Marcinkiewicz: The Rhetoric of the City: Robinson Jeffers and A. R. Ammons. 2009.

Vol.

34

Wojciech Małecki: Embodying Pragmatism. Richard Shusterman’s Philosophy and Literary Theory. 2010.

Vol.

35

Wojciech Kalaga / Marzena Kubisz (eds.): Cartographies of Culture. Memory, Space, Representation. 2010.

Vol.

36

Bożena Shallcross / Ryszard Nycz (eds.): The Effect of Pamplisest. Culture, Literature, History. 2011.

Vol.

37

Wojciech Kalaga / Marzena Kubisz / Jacek Mydla (eds.): A Culture of Recycling / Recycling Culture? 2011.

Vol.

38

Anna Chromik: Disruptive Fluidity. The Poetics of the Pop Cogito. 2012.

Vol.

39

Paweł Wojtas: Translating Gombrowicz´s Liminal Aesthetics. 2014.

Vol.

40

Marcin Mazurek: A Sense of Apocalypse. Technology, Textuality, Identity. 2014.

Vol.

41

Charles Russell / Arne Melberg / Jarosław Płuciennik / Michał Wróblewski (eds.): Critical Theory and Critical Genres. Contemporary Perspectives from Poland. 2014.

Vol.

42

Marzena Kubisz: Resistance in the Deceleration Lane. Velocentrism, Slow Culture and Everyday Practice. 2014.

Vol.

43

Bohumil Fořt: An Introduction to Fictional Worlds Theory. 2016.

Vol.

44

Agata Wilczek: Beyond the Limits of Language. Apophasis and Transgression in Contemporary Theoretical Discourse. 2016.

Vol.

45

Witold Sadowski / Magdalena Kowalska / Magdalena Maria Kubas (eds.): Litanic Verse I. Origines, Iberia, Slavia et Europa Media. 2016.

Vol.

46

Witold Sadowski / Magdalena Kowalska / Magdalena Maria Kubas (eds.): Litanic Verse II. Britannia, Germania et Scandinavia. 2016.

Vol.

47

Julia Szołtysek: A Mosaic of Misunderstanding: Occident, Orient, and Facets of Mutual Misconstrual. 2016.

Vol.

48

Manyaka Toko Djockoua: Cross-Cultural Affinities. Emersonian Transcendentalism and Senghorian Negritude. 2016.

Vol.

49

Ryszard Nycz: The Language of Polish Modernism. Translated by Tul'si Bhambry. 2017.

Vol.

50

Alina Silvana Felea: Aspects of Reference in Literary Theory. Poetics, Rhetoric and Literary History. 2017.

Vol.

51

Jerry Xie: Mo Yan Thought. Six Critiques of Hallucinatory Realism. 2017.

Vol.

52

Vol.

53

Paweł Stachura / Piotr Śniedziewski / Krzysztof Trybuś (eds.): Approaches to Walter Benjamin’s The Arcades Project. 2017.

Ricardo Namora: Before the Trenches. A Mapping of Problems in Literary Interpretation. 2017.

Vol.

54

Kerstin Eksell / Gunilla Lindberg-Wada (eds.): Studies of Imagery in Early Mediterranean and East Asian Poetry. 2017.

www.peterlang.com